


Burnt Flowers Fallen

by KatieHavok



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abernathy Is A Creep In Any Universe, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But Not For Like 18 Chapters, Canon Jewish Character, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Gnarlak Is Awful, Hints of Judaism, Historical Accuracy, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Newt Scamander is a Dork, Newt's Hero Complex, No MACUA Employment, Period-Accurate Descriptions of Poverty, Poor Tina, Pretty Woman Meets Fantastic Beasts, Prostitutes, Protective Tina Goldstein, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Tina In Newt's Coat, Tina's Backstory, Tina-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 64,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: If there is one thing her long and storied life has taught her, it is that when one lives both above and below the law, it is never wise toflauntit.





	1. Chapter One

*

The day that changes Tina Goldstein’s life dawns bright and clear and unseasonably cold.

Her trip to the market is uneventful and goes like most other mornings. Tina’s tired brogues clatter over cobblestone when she skirts the rougher sections of downtown for the business district, stray dogs fleeing before her. In her line of work, it isn’t good to be seen by potential clientèle in the light of day—even if many of those clients wouldn’t know her face from her bottom, a part of her many of them are _intimately_ familiar with.

If there is one thing her long and storied life has taught her, it is that when one lives both above and below the law, it is never wise to _flaunt_ it.

A familiar ache settles into her belly, so she purchases a hot dog from her preferred kosher deli. She noshes it while perusing the market wares. The cabbage is dreadfully wilted so she skips it, choosing instead a flat sack of beans and a few pounds of potatoes—enough for the next few days. The offal smells like poison, but she and Queenie haven’t had meat in weeks and she’s feeling it in her muscles. She buys a pound and tucks it into her basket with the intent of using it right away.

Tina sets off for home with the weak December sun on her shoulders and her collar turned against the chill. She glanced curiously at a newspaper stand, seeing reports of another subway attack, and spares a moment of sympathy for those affected.

There’s a scuffle on the steps of Steen National Bank when she approaches—a wiry man in a blue greatcoat, apparently giving chase to some sort of small animal.

She stops to watch, uncharacteristically bemused and rather charmed as Blue Coat dives to pluck up a small, black beast. The creature has sharp claws and a duck-billed mouth, and she stops to stare when she experiences a slight glimmer of recollection. _Well, that’s certainly not a dog!_ Intrigued, Tina’s careful to keep to his periphery as she creeps up the broad marble steps.

Mr. Greatcoat sets down his brown suitcase, scolding the creature with exasperated but unmistakable _fondness_  as Tina moves stealthily closer. The man bends to open his burden at the same instant the door of the bank ejects a stout fellow in an ill-fitted suit. He’s carrying a case that is almost identical to the one owned by the man wrangling the animal. Tina predicts his trajectory while noting the distracted air of Blue Coat when Mr. Stout heads directly toward him and can see the almost inevitable result with preternatural clarity.

She opens her mouth to call a warning.

Too late, it turns out. Mr. Ill-Fitting Suit trips over Mr. Coat’s case and pitches head-first down the steps in an ungraceful sprawl, sending his battered case and suit jacket flying every which way. Mr. Blue witnesses the accident and its cause and, in his haste, knocks his own suitcase into the fray, wincing when it clatters down the steps. This doesn’t prevent him from helping Mr. Rotund to his feet, however, or murmuring an apology.

“So sorry—my case,” he says, and Tina notes curiously that his accent is almost as crisp as his clothes. And his hair—a deep sandy-red, framing startlingly green eyes. A smattering of freckles across his nose gives him a boyish quality, highlighted by his loose movements and hesitant smile. He dusts off a scowling Mr. Rotund and straightens his lapels before smiling sheepishly.

The tripped man gives the one fussing over him a baleful look. “No harm done,” he finally, begrudgingly admits and bends to scoop up his case before trundling onwards. He cranes his neck as though it hurts as short, mincing steps carry him off into the street. Mr. Blue watches him go as if observing a species in its native habitat, before reaching into his coat and retrieving the heretofore forgotten animal. Tina steps closer until her shadow falls over him. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“For the last time, you pilfering pest,” Red Hair picks up his monologue, tone exasperated but infinitely patient, “ _paws off what doesn’t belong to you!_ ”

He drops onto his haunches to open his case, and the creature—which she thinks she may finally recognize—gives a great, heaving wriggle in a last-ditch attempt to break free. Blue Coat scowls in irritation before subtly tightening his hold when Tina unthinking drops into a squat and sets aside her basket.

“Here,” she says quickly, deft fingers flicking open the locks on the case. “Put him away, quickly!”

Blue Coat levels green eyes at her but affects no surprise at her presence. Instead, he examines her hat, her hair, her face, before dropping over the rest of her, as quick as blinking. Perusal made, he flashes a boyishly crooked smile before reaching for his case—and freezing. Tina watches his face go pale beneath the remnants of his light summer tan, his freckles thrown into sudden, sharp contrast, with a sinking feeling.

Tina hesitantly follows his gaze to take in an open case and odd assortment of...pastries? She tilts her head curiously before wrinkling her eyes in a small smile, the sudden absurdity of this entire situation coming to the fore.

“Um,” she asks eloquently. “I’m guessing this isn’t what you were expecting?”

Blue Coat sighs deeply before rolling his eyes skyward. He narrows his eyes, making him look momentarily feline, before darting them out over the street and om the direction Mr. Ill-Fitting Suit had gone. Finding no sign of him, he slumps and sighs heavily before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“ _Bugger!_ ” Blue Coat says with feeling, and Tina bites her lip to contain an inappropriate bray of laughter as he snaps the case closed and smoothly rises to his feet.

“Who are you?” She asks curiously after he’s stashed the odd little beast into an inner pocket of his coat with a stern admonishment to “ _behave!_ ”.

“Newt Scamander,” he says promptly enough, but with a highly distracted air. He scans the heavy crowd for a long moment, shoulders tense, then cuts his eyes back to her. “And you are?”

Tina worries her lip, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. She bends to pick up her basket and the potatoes that had rolled down the steps, smoothing her hands over her threadbare coat before answering. “Um, Tina. Goldstein. But most people just call me Tina.”

Mr. Scamander inclines his head in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the mass of people. “I suppose there’s no finding him, is there Miss Goldstein?” he asks in a resigned murmur, and she shakes her head with a small, disbelieving smile.

“In New York City? I’m afraid not, Mr. Scamander.” His lapel wriggles, and she looks at it curiously before taking the plunge. “I’m sorry, but...is that a Niffler?”

His eyes return to her, and now the _full_ weight of his gaze holds her in place. Her scalp prickles strangely, and his eyes go distant for a moment before narrowing. “You can see him?” he asks, and in any other scenario, Tina would giggle at the absurdity of the question. As it stands, she hesitates and wonders, for the first time, if perhaps she’s in over her head.

“Um, yes,” she finally answers with false bravado. “That is what it is, isn’t it?”

He nods. A surreptitious glance around sees him stepping closer, until their shadows pool together at their feet and she can see the small scar across the bridge of his nose. Another scar neatly bisects his upper lip, just beneath his philtrum, and she wonders absently if they’re badges from the Niffler—or from something else entirely.

“You aren’t associated with MACUSA, are you?” he asks in a stage-whisper, and she gapes as things click into place. Tina moves back, higher up the steps instead of down, and he watches her go with a mildly raised eyebrow. She takes in the bright blue coat, the trousers that are just this side of too-short, and the battered brown boots. His strange December tan is the final piece of the puzzle, and she closes her eyes in realization.

“I’m not associated with MACUSA, no,” she declares softly, and he nods in apparent relief. She draws another breath before staring out into the street and the square beyond, mind spinning along rapidly. “He was probably a No-Maj,” she thinks aloud. “Which means he has your _magical_ suitcase, which could have all manner of...anything, really. Am I right?”

She directs this last question at him and he palms the back of his neck awkwardly before nodding. “Yes,” Mr. Scamander agrees. “So you can understand why it’s important that I get my case back. _Before_ he opens it.”

Tina puffs her cheeks out in momentary indecision. A small part of her, alight with the innocent wonder that hard-living and a lifetime of disappointments hadn’t managed to scour away, delights at the chance for adventure. The other part, harshly pragmatic and coldly logical, points out that she still needs to nap before work, and that gallivanting around the city with a strange _man_ is sure to bring its own set of problems. She gnaws her lip while adjusting her grip on the basket, and sighs regretfully.

“He went that way,” she says, pointing unhelpfully to the busy crowds of people flowing around them. “You’re going to have to find him on your own. I’m sorry, but I need to get home. My sister is waiting for me.” She’s surprised to discover that she _is_ sorry, and she experiences a sharp pang when he seems to deflate.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Goldstein,” he politely acknowledges while inclining his head, eyes dropping to her shoes. “I have my maps, I’m sure I’ll be able to track him down. I’ve some experience in these matters, you see.”

_I’ll bet you do_ , she thinks pointedly as he executes a strange, awkward half bow before turning, coat swirling dramatically around him. She watches him go, frozen with sudden indecision and seeming to feel the earth rotating on its axis. He descends the marbled steps quickly and his vibrant coat tail stands out against the drab throng—a strange bird on foreign soil. One more turn and he’ll be gone, out of her life forever...if she allows it. If she stays here and lets him go.

Tina decides, then and there, not to.

“ _Mr. Scamander!_ ”

He pauses with one foot on the curb and the other in the gutter, turning to watch her curiously as Tina trots down the steps and across the broad avenue. A train clatters over their heads while she ducks and weaves through the crowd before skidding to a halt beside him.

“New York is a _big_ place,” she explains breathlessly, her cheeks warming with exertion and something she doesn’t quite recognize. “It’s hard enough for people who live here to find their way around, and you—you are _obviously_ not from around here. So c’mon. Let’s go find your case.”

Mr. Scamander stares at her with a furrowed brow for a long moment before he smiles, the expression slow and shy. It crinkles the corner of his eyes as the sun glints into them, turning them into warm amber, which shines down at _her_. It transforms his angular face entirely, and she swallows past the sudden dryness in her throat.

“ _Thank you_ , Miss Goldstein,” he breathes, and she spurs herself into action, lest she continues to stare and lose herself to his exotic gaze.

“This way,” Tina says while nodding her head in the direction Mr. Portly had gone, and he’s still smiling faintly as she bravely leads him into the crush.

*


	2. Chapter Two

*

“What are you doing in New York, anyway?” Tina asks Mr. Scamander ("Oh, call me Newt!") sometime later, after the opulence of the financial district has given way to crumbling tenement buildings.

Newt takes one more fascinated look around before turning to her. She notes that he walks differently from other people, each step deliberate in both lift and landing, his shoulders and upper body rocked forward in an action posture. It gives him a strange, rolling, almost duck-like gait, and she smiles faintly as he switches his case from one hand to the other before answering. He angles his upper half toward her when he speaks, and this changes his stride into something more akin to a march.

“If you were an official, I’d tell you that I’d come to buy a birthday present,” he says with a flash of teeth. “But since you aren’t, I can say that I’m only supposed to be here for a few hours. I’m just passing through, really.” He sighs. “I suspect I may miss my connection now, but traveling to Arizona without my case would render the entire trip moot.”

“Arizona?” She starts to ask but is interrupted when the breast pocket of his blue coat  _ chirps _ and a tiny, leafy head pokes out. Newt shushes the odd little creature while covering him protectively with one slim hand, dipping his chin to smile faintly.

“Pickett, come on now—you know you mustn't be seen.” The creature—Pickett, presumably—chirps again, and long, finger-like appendages appear to point down an intersecting street. At the same moment, something iridescent, purple and buzzing flits around their heads before darting away. Tina follows it with her eyes until it’s out of sight, then turns confusedly to her companion.

Newt rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and relaxes his upper body, stance and walk becoming suddenly predatory. He quickens his movements toward a building showing scattered signs of destruction, while a gathered crowd buzzes excitedly. Tina unthinkingly reaches out to take his case and Newt hands it over without comment. He observes everything through narrowed eyes before shouldering his way through the crowd, Tina following dutifully behind.

“I’m telling you, I  _ saw _ it!” A drunken man in work-stained coveralls gesticulates to a breathless police officer. Tina winces away from the charnel house stink of him. The man rambles on as Newt creeps intently behind him. A narrow, yellow wand flicks briefly, and Tina feels a growing fissure of alarm at the casual display of magic.

“It was a giant, huge hippopota—gas,” the man insists, drawing out the last syllable of the word drunkenly. Tina looks around the growing crowd until the purple insect puts in another appearance, buzzing over the mass of humanity before ducking into an alley. Distracted and confused, Tina blinks back to the sea of people, only to discover that her wayward companion has slipped off to dart into the building.

_ Well, that was rude! _ Tightening her grip on the battered case, she pushes, shoves, and bullies her way to the front door.

“Newt!”

There’s a cacophonous clatter from above as she takes the stairs at a jog, only to find Newt sitting innocently on a bed with a familiar brown case laid across his lap. A quick look around shows that whatever destruction wrought here has been repaired, apparently by his wand. She blinks at him, pieces quickly falling into place.

“It was open?” she asks in dismay, and he blinks at her through wide eyes.

“Just a smidge,” Newt murmurs, watching her carefully.

“Did anything  _ else _ get out?”

“Er—maybe,” he allows, choosing to omit the fact that the Niffler has once more given him the slip, and braves a crooked smile. His smile does something strange to Tina’s insides, but she ignores it in favor of breathing a sigh of relief at the retrieved case—until a furry groan rises from the corner of the room. Whirling, she finds Mr. Portly sprawled there, face down and twitching. Horror freezes her in place as her heart leaps into her throat.

“Oh,  _ no _ —” Tina exclaims, darting forward to crouch beside him. “His neck’s bleeding, he’s hurt!”

Mr. Ill-Fitting Suit blinks open his eyes and focuses on her blearily. They stare at each other for a tense few seconds, Tina fretting without compunction until something pink and  _ tentacled _ unfurls from behind him to spit viciously and leap at her. Tina utters a graceless shriek and flings herself backward. Scamander, bless his reflexes, pops up from the bed to deftly capture the  _ thing _ with one hand before neatly wrestling it into his case and snapping it closed.

Tina glares at him from her spot on the floor, disheveled, gasping and embarrassed. “Mercy  _ Lewis _ , what is that?”

The tips of Newt’s ears turn faintly pink as he focuses just to the left of her shoulder. “Nothing to worry about,” he reassures her. “That is a Murtlap.”

Between them, the other gentleman blinks and attempts to sit up, hands rising to frame his head. Tina ignores him for now, brows furrowing in consternation. “What else have you got in there?” she asks him suspiciously, for the first time actively  _ alarmed _ by the situation, and Newt grimaces slightly.

He’s saved from answering when the man on the floor looks at him with a distant flash of recognition. “You!” he says, and Newt smiles awkwardly.

“Hello,” he murmurs. Tina leaps to her feet.

“Easy, Mr.—uh...” She fumbles for his hand and he shakes with her blearily before swallowing and squinting into her face.

“Kowalski, Jacob...” he groans, and Tina looks around quickly before turning back to Newt.

“We need to go,” she hisses urgently, and he snaps out a smart nod before standing. Jacob retches, tucked into his miserable corner, and Tina pulls a face before looking away. Newt, however, raises a curious brow, apparently wholly absorbed in the reaction. Tina eyes the oozing bite on the man’s neck and her companion’s piqued interest before rolling her eyes and stooping to take Jacob's arm.

“He looks ill,” she ventures with forced patience. Jacob retches once more, loudly, and Newt frowns.

“He’ll be fine,” he reassures them both. “Murtlap bites aren’t serious,” he goes on, only to blink confusedly when Jacob continues to voice a series of pained noises. He tilts his head, and Tina crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrow raised in challenge. His cheeks turn pink and he winces as he continues. “I admit that is a slightly more severe reaction than I’ve seen, but if it were really serious—he’d have...”

Newt cuts himself off, and this time he does look away, gaze burning into the wall. Tina exhales irritably, narrow-eyed and tight-mouthed in disbelief. “He’d have  _ what _ ?” she prompts, and he flinches before braving eye contact.

“Well,” he manages, “the first symptom would be flames out of his anus—”

Tina tosses her hands into the air in disbelief. “Oh, this is all balled up!” she moans and sends Newt a nasty look. Stunned into soupy awareness, Jacob surreptitiously touches his rear-end before also glaring at him, who shifts guiltily.

“It lasts forty-eight hours at the most,” he attempts to console, and Jacob turns, if possible, even paler. Tina turns on Newt with balled fists, and he juts his chin at her defiantly. “I can keep him if you want me to—” he begins, until she cuts him off with a disdainful snort.

“ _ Oh _ , you can’t ‘keep him’!” she exclaims, and Jacob bobs his head back and forth between the two, momentarily forgetting his discomfort and confusion to intently follow their heated discourse. Neither of them notices. “We don’t  _ keep _ the No-Majs—Mr. Scamander, do you know  _ anything _ about the wizarding community in America?”

“I do know a few things, actually,” he bites out, and Tina crosses her arms defensively at his sudden, harsh tone. He doesn’t drop his gaze, speaking directly to her with a frustrating combination of pride and self-righteousness. “I know you have rather backward laws about relations with non-magic people. That you’re not meant to befriend them, that you can’t marry them, which seems mildly absurd to me.” He finishes with a challenging jerk of his chin as Tina glares, unable to find a suitable argument.

“Who’s going to marry  _ him _ ?” She asks dryly, and neatly deflects the weak sneer Jacob tosses her way. Newt rolls his eyes, before drawing a deep breath, apparently letting the argument drop. She shoves her irritation aside with a deep breath and scratches her eyebrow nervously. “MACUSA will be here at any second,” she offers as a verbal olive branch, and he visibly relaxes. She sighs her own relief and bends to take Jacob’s arm in an attempt to pull him to his feet. He’s heavy though and still reeling, and she can’t quite make it work. Tina turns to Newt.

“Help me?” She asks softly, pleadingly. Newt regards them both before rolling his eyes and stepping forward. He bends and pulls Jacob to his feet in one smooth motion, and Tina tries very hard not to notice the clean figure he cuts or the apparently hidden strength in his wiry frame. Instead, she reaches for her wand.

“I’m...I’m dreaming, right?” Jacob murmurs at her side, and she hears Newt’s softly disbelieving snort. She herself cannot refrain from a typical New York eye-roll. “Yeah...I’m tired, I never went to the bank. This is all just some big nightmare, right?”

“For the both of us, Mr. Kowalski,” Tina growls and slashes her wand through the air. The dissolve into Disapparition, but in the split-second before they vanish, she doesn’t miss the way Newt looks at her—or the hurt way he averts his eyes.

*


	3. Chapter Three

*

They Apparate to a filthy alley redolent with the stench of all manner of bodily wastes, thanks to the line of privies leaning drunkenly alongside it. Jacob gags loudly, and Newt hastily casts an air-refreshing charm before shoving a wrinkled but clean hanky into his hand. Jacob croaks his thanks while covering his mouth and nose, eyes wide and glassy above the expanse of white.

Tina, mostly inured to the scent from years of exposure, creeps forward. Newt and Jacob follow quietly until they can step out of the crooked alley and into an equally crooked street. She leads them onward with her head held high, Newt looking around in fascination while Jacob simply looks miserable. They duck into another dark alley, marginally cleaner than the first, and past a dilapidated row of buildings until Tina stops them at a splintery door and glances around nervously.

“Before we go in,” she whispers urgently, “I’m really not supposed to have men on the premises during the day.” Newt and Jacob exchange confused looks before she goes on. “I need you both to be quiet, and I need you to skip the steps I tap. Okay?” They nod as one, and Tina watches them through narrow eyes before easing open the door. The hinges scream like a woman being murdered, and they all wince and wait a few tense, breathless moments before creeping up the stairs.

The inside of the building is dark and musty, the air thick with the distinct tang of urine. The stairs are crumbling and lean dangerously, and Newt wonders absently about the amount of magic being used to help shore them up. Tina taps the third and thirteenth steps, and the men avoid them—Newt with a deft grace, Jacob with a sort of blundering elegance. She sighs in relief when they reach the landing until a door rattles open beneath them. They freeze as a unit, not daring to breathe.

“That you, Tina?” a heavily-accented female voice calls from below, and her eyes widen. Newt squeezes Jacob’s arm and closes his eyes, doing his utmost to become invisible.

“Yes, Mrs. Esposito!” Tina’s voice shakes slightly, but her tone is amazingly calm. Unseen by Tina, Newt blinks open his eyes in admiration of her mettle and angles his head to watch her from his periphery.

“Are you _alone_?” the disembodied voice clarifies. The skin around Tina’s eyes tightens momentarily, but that’s her only outward reaction. Newt watches, fingers itching for his wand and helplessly intrigued by the exchange.

“I’m always alone during the day, Mrs. Esposito,” she finally answers, voice trembling very slightly, and boldly lifts her gaze. She meets Newt’s own and he doesn’t drop his eyes. Instead, he ponders her confusing words— _always alone during the day, what could that mean?_ —until she finally looks away, cheeks going faintly pink.

Tina regroups after a tense moment and takes the lead once more, guiding them carefully to a newer-looking door and fumblingly slotting a key into the complex lock. “It’s not much,” she whispers, “but it’s home.” She pushes open the door with a flourish and Newt steps in first, only for Tina to shove Jacob inside before hurriedly locking it behind her.

Newt’s first impression is that this place smells _cleaner_ than the rest of the building; fresher, somehow, as if someone adept with housekeeping spells keeps on top of it—even if the clean scent is overlaid with the pungency of boiled cabbage and the slightest hint of mildew. Gradually, he notices the crumbling walls, the water-rippled ceiling, and the exposed lathe. The warped and cloudy leaded-glass windows are without the benefit of curtains, and the small hearth, dressed with candlesticks on the mantle, puts out insufficient heat for even this claustrophobic space.

Newt recognizes the abject poverty of their flat, the misery steeped into its very walls, and something in his chest twists painfully. He joins the knowledge of her living situation with the brisk but compassionate woman who’d gone out of her way to help him, and something fierce and protective rises to sweep over him. A confusing response—not one he’d normally attribute to humans. Not since the horrors he’d so recently fled, and also not something he’s willing to consider right now. He shoves it aside brusquely, evading his own emotional response in favor of carefully cataloging the woman who’s inspired it.

A billywig alights outside the window, undoubtedly one of his own, and he sighs inwardly. The magical insect hovers teasingly before flitting away, and Newt smothers a frustrated exhale. He makes a mental note to attempt to reclaim it, situation willing, until a voice speaks up behind him.

“Teenie!” The words are breathy, female. On the younger side, by the sound of it, but with an exhausted, worldly undertone. “You brought men home?”

He turns curiously and is greeted by the sight of a heart-stopping blonde witch. She is beautiful in spite of her modest dress and work-reddened hands, which are clasped demurely at her front as a shell-tipped wand dangles loosely between her ravaged fingers. Her smile is wide and radiant and guileless. She glances at Newt dismissively before settling on Jacob, who stares at her unabashedly.

“Gentlemen,” Tina says in a voice heavy with irony, “This is my sister, Queenie.” She bends to pull off her brogues after depositing the market basket on a narrow counter.

Newt chooses to watch the careful interaction between Jacob and Tina’s sister: the way the blonde chews her lip in excitement as she seems to drink in the other man’s face, before she scans Newt and _her_ face falls. She turns to Tina with a note of confusion.

“You don’t bring men home before dark,” Queenie observes in a stage-whisper, and Tina flushes. “And _never_ two at a time. Teenie, what are you up to?”

Tina makes a strangled sound as Newt considers them with narrowed eyes, performing complex mental arithmetic until understanding comes to him in a flash of bleak insight. He feels his jaw unhinge, his eyes widening in shock and dismay. It all fits: the careful way she looks at him, the even more careful way she keeps her distance. The landlady’s strange questions, and Tina’s own odd pronouncement, coupled with the poor living conditions and the building's proximity to the boatyards and factories. It leads to one logical conclusion, and the weight of his comprehension causes that strange and tender _awareness_ of her to cringe in dismay.

Newt looks at her steadily through the lens of his new understanding and is once again swept with compassion. Tina glares back at him defiantly, jaw raised and shoulders set in a fighting stance. Queenie watches them both wearily, wand held more firmly, before shifting her attention when Newt does nothing more than drop his eyes and consider the floor. Tina pushes a lock of dark hair behind her ear before dismissing him with a disdainful snort.

Jacob, meanwhile, stares vaguely at Queenie, who smiles at him brightly once the other couple has stopped being combative. That is, until he sways drunkenly and collapses onto the settee. It creaks tiredly before accepting his weight, and the blonde rushes forward with a gasp. “Oh, you need to sit down!” she admonishes, and he smiles muddily up at her. “He hasn’t eaten all day, and—he didn’t get the loan for his bakery—you bake, honey?” He gapes before braving a weak smile, tentatively pointing to himself.

“Teenie and I love sweets,” she enthuses, “even if we don’t get many of them. And I _love_ to cook!”

Newt watches the exchange with renewed interest, and another flash of realization occurs as she shares and nods along in unspoken agreement. “You are a Legilimens!” He doesn’t allow himself to think before speaking, too taken with interest, and even manages to meet her eyes for the first time since arriving.

She bites her lip and nods, a little shyly. “Mmhm, yeah,” Queenie confirms. “But I always have trouble with your kind—Brits. It’s the accent.”

He digests this bemusedly while she turns her ethereal attention back to the man on the couch, the one watching her with open interest and fascination. She taps him with her wand gently, and he gasps but does not flinch away. “You can read m-minds?” Jacob asks with a heavy swallow.

Her smile is beautiful and innocent when she answers. “Don’t worry, honey. Most guys think what you was thinking, first time they see me. Now—you need food.” Jacob gulps as she dances across the room, and Newt finds himself charmed and fascinated in turn by the entire exchange.

Queenie returns to the tiny stove and even tinier counter, dismissing both the men and their line of questioning for domestic concerns, while Tina flicks her wand. A splintery cupboard beside his head creaks opens, and Newt watches as cracked and mismatched bowls float their way to the table. Battered spoons follow while ragged napkins swoop through the air in seagull-like flight patterns. The items arrange neatly on the tiny table, just big enough for two, while Queenie directs the thin soup to ladle itself into bowls, the rough bread to distribute to side plates.

He’s staring again, mind clicking along rapidly, and doesn’t realize it until Jacob clears his throat and glares pointedly while tucking a napkin into his collar.

“Well, sit down, Mr. Scamander,” Tina says with a tired smile, and pulls out a chair for him. “We’re not going to poison you.”

It’s meant to be a joke but it falls flat between them, and he grimaces. Pickett, who has poked out for a look around, chirps at him in alarm before retreating. Newt ignores him while crossing the room and setting down his case, weighing the implications of the sister's having given up their chairs for unplanned-for guests, and wondering what he could possibly do to help ease their burden.

*

The food is incredibly humble but surprisingly good—it reminds Newt strongly of the peasant fare he’d sampled in his travels, simple dishes infused with their own brand of culinary magic. He knows cabbage causes discomfort, and he’d eaten more than his fair share during the war, so he nibbles only enough to be polite while focusing on the bits of offal before pushing the bowl aside to soak up the clear broth with his bread.

Queenie and Jacob flirt freely and openly over the course of the meal, an instant connection made and expanded upon. Newt watches with fascination as the first steps of the human mating ritual play out. Tina, on the other hand, alternates between longingly watching her vibrant sister, and cautiously examining him. Confused, he meets her eyes until she casts her gaze aside. Her interest in him returns moments later, and she makes eye contact until he feels awkward and uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny and it is  _his_ turn to look away.

They do this throughout the course of the meal, and the back of his neck is hot by the time they clean up.

“I work for New Salem Shirtwaist,” Queenie says later when the shadows have grown long with dusk and the dishes are washing in the rusting sink. She holds up her hands meekly. “I sew on buttons, mostly—unskilled labor, but it helps put bread on the table.”

Newt notes the myriad cuts and bruises on her delicate fingers, the ragged nails that strive to be well-groomed, and clears his throat gently. “I may have something in my case that could help with that,” he murmurs, and she beams at him. Her sister, too, smiles at him hesitantly, _approvingly_ , and he reflects that it's possibly the only _right_ thing he’s said all day. Warmth fills his chest while Tina goes to the hearth to light a candle with a few murmured words. He watches her curiously until she returns.

“Teenie helps, too,” Queenie goes on, but Tina turns tense so her sister smoothly sidesteps the subject, refocusing her attention on Jacob. “You’re sweet,” she breathes in response to one of his thoughts, and he smiles. “We’ve got each other, though. After Ma and Pa died, Tina raised me. She’s always been good at doing what she has to do for me. _She’d_ be the career girl if things was different.” She turns an affection grin on her sister, and Newt follows her gaze.

The flickering candlelight seems to be absorbed by Tina’s incredible dark eyes— _Spanish eyes_ , his mind helpfully supplies—and her skin glows palely. Her dark hair reflects cinders and ash back at him, and her mouth is a lovely, sculpted bow. She looks at him nervously and swallows, and he finds that picturing her in a respectable career is easy—a factory boss, perhaps. Maybe even an Auror. Anything besides what she does, what she’s been forced into being.

Newt experiences a tender, peeling ache for the woman standing across from him, and her eyes soften as he watches her. She withstands his scrutiny only for a few moments before ducking her head and tracing the grain of the counter with her thumbnail. He’s on the cusp of braving a small smile, anything to return her gaze to him when Queenie stops mid-sentence and looks at Tina.

“I’m not _flirting_ ,” she declares haughtily, and Tina grimaces.

“I’m just sayin’, don’t go getting attached. You know how it is with—with women like you and me. And if MACUSA finds you carrying on with a No-Maj, we’ll likely all end up in jail.”

“You would, maybe,” Queenie sniffs, a little meanly, before covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh Teenie, I’m _sorry_!” Her eyes grow very wide over her fingers when Tina fixes her with a stony glare.

Jacob awkwardly clears his throat while using his napkin to pat his sweaty forehead. Newt notes the renewed tremble in the other man’s hand as Tina visually cows her sister, who’s bowed her head in shame. He jumps to his feet with an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I think Mr. Kowalski could do with an early evening,” he blusters, not quite able to meet anyone's gaze. “Besides, I’ll need to be up early to find my Niffler.” He remembers then that he hadn’t _told_ her it had given him the slip and winces inwardly while digging the tips of his fingers into the seat back until his knuckles creak in warning. Jacob gives him a hesitant, thankful smile as the tension diffuses. Tina slowly crosses the room, seeming not to notice his minor slip.

“What’s a Niffler?” Queenie asks with a wrinkled brow, temporary squabble forgotten, and Tina shakes her head.

“Don’t ask,” she sighs tiredly. Then, to Jacob and Newt, “Okay, you guys can bunk in here. I know it's not much, but there are two beds. We’re not going to turn you out after dark.”

Newt’s mind stutters to a halt at the unheard-of offer, eyes widening in his face. She tilts her head girlishly before looking at the floor, cheeks infusing with color. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “But you’re going to have to stay here all night. I work out of the front room, and I’m already late. Please try and be quiet.”

Newt glances at Jacob to find him watching Tina with a gutted expression, his kind eyes drooping sadly. Queenie eyes Newt with a furrowed brow, apparently trying to get a read on his thoughts. _I’m not upset_ , he thinks deliberately, trying very hard to keep his head clear and thoughts directed at her. _I’m just surprised, that’s all._

Queenie nods and looks at Jacob, who seems able to read her already—much like lovers, he realizes. Jacob clears his throat and bravely crosses the threshold, and Newt has no choice but to follow, case in hand and ignorant to the look of relief that slowly dawns on Tina’s face.

*


	4. Chapter Four

*

Tina spares a moment to think about how _inappropriate_ it is for two men to share a room with her sister, but Newt quickly provides a solution: he puts his case on the floor and _climbs inside it_. He disappears long enough to make his point before his head and shoulders reemerge, minus his distinctive blue coat. “No need to worry, Miss Goldstein,” he murmurs in an attempt to reassure. “Mr. Kowalski and I will bunk down here, and the case will remain closed and locked the entire time.”

He smiles at her from his position on the floor, and his eyes—blue now, she notes—measure her face. “I promise,” he goes on soothingly, “we will remain perfect guests.” Jacob clears his throat and nods hastily, and Queenie giggles from her place by the door before folding Tina into a gentle embrace.

“We’ll be fine,” she whispers. “Mr. Scamander has hammocks down there for them, I can pick that out, and he isn’t interested in me like that anyways. And Jacob, well...” She smiles at the man in question, who blushes fiercely through the sweat on his skin and toes the floor. “He’s a sweetheart, he won’t try nothin’.”

Queenie squeezes her with one arm before letting go, and Tina decides to leave the issue for now and crosses to the battered wardrobe to pull out her work clothes. She’s trying to be discrete, so of course, she fumbles her garish red camisole and girdle, the lace of her garters flying through the air as she attempts to retrieve them.

Jacob flushes and spins to face the wall, frantically humming off-key. Newt, however, witnesses her embarrassment without expression.

“Do be careful out there, Miss Goldstein,” he says unexpectedly just as Tina’s about to take her leave, and she freezes. The thick air of the room sticks in her throat and she has to swallow twice before it clears. Queenie makes an odd little sound but Tina doesn’t turn to acknowledge it; instead, she closes her eyes and takes a fortifying breath.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” she manages, before fleeing the room with as much grace as she can muster.

*

Tina’s hands tremble terribly as she washes, and the unsteadiness proves a hindrance while she’s trying to dress. It gradually subsides as she brushes out and pins back her hair, and her hand is steady by the time she applies the cheap make-up she and her sister share. A brush of powder over her nose, a heavy hand with the red lipstick, and she’s ready to face the night. Outwardly, at least.

A quick glance in the cloudy mirror forces a tired sigh, and she smooths her blouse with a rough hand before rucking up her skirt another inch. Tina chews her lips anxiously when she looks at the bedroom door—it’s suspiciously quiet in there, and the urge to check on them in almost overwhelming. But then she remembers the case and the locking charm and shakes her head at her own paranoia.

Tina Transfigures the settee into a narrow bed just before leaving and locks the door behind her. She doesn’t look back.

*

The night is over quicker than Tina anticipates. She manages to hook six men, all after the same thing—easy enough to bend over and let them have their way. She goes numb after the third, and she’s careful to keep on top of her lubrication spells for the rest of the evening. The potential customer pool diminishes sharply after midnight, and she decides she has time for a detour before heading home.

She removes and cleans her pessary with a grimace before adjusting her blouse and dropping the hem of her skirt. She attempts to look at least partly respectable when she Apparates to the alley beside the New Salem Shirtwaist factory, though she suspects she does a bad job of it. Once there, Tina hangs around until she sees him—broad forehead oily and pale beneath the harsh electric lamps, smoking a cigarette and sneering toward his place of employment.

Tina swallows down her instinctive distaste and hesitates only a moment before stepping into the light.

“Goldstein,” he purrs, flicking his cigarette away. His gaze crawls over her, the feel of it somehow as greasy as his skin. He leers, and Tina resists the urge to cross her arms defensively over her chest. Instead, she feigns relaxation and tips her head haughtily.

“Have you seen him today?” She asks, and Abernathy voices a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, he was here,” he finally drawls. He pulls a face and lights another cigarette, clouds of acrid smoke obscuring his features. “He was hanging around that Barebone kid again. What do you think he wants with him? Is he a fruit or somethin’?”

Tina shakes her head, temporarily too deep in contemplation to be disgusted by the man before her. “I’m not sure,” she murmurs. “It’s strange—what would the director of Magical Law Enforcement want with a No-Maj orphan kid in a factory? It makes no sense.” She ponders this until Abernathy grunts rudely, and Tina comes back to her surroundings to find that he’s moved closer, eyes lingering hungrily on her breasts.

“I’m about due, ain’t I?” he asks, and Tina grimaces. There’s no help for it—he _is_ due, and he’s been surprisingly forthcoming tonight. A refreshing change, really. She sighs, and this time allows herself to cross her arms over her chest to ward off a bout of shivers.

“Yeah, you are,” she admits, and he grins nastily.

The rusted gate sounds funereal when Abernathy pushes it open before shoving her into an alley. He’s several inches shorter than she is but still manages to make it work—fumbling her skirts around her waist, giving her barely enough time to slick his way before he enters her. It _hurts_ because she’s not at all prepared, but Tina knows he enjoys seeing her pain so she endures it stoically, only closing her eyes at the very end when he bares his shark-like teeth and slathers her.

Abernathy pants rancidly before straightening his trousers and looking at her indifferently. “Don’t come around for a while, Goldstein,” he sneers, and she nods. “The bosses are gettin’ suspicious. And _they_ won’t be gentle.”

One last foul look, and he’s gone. Tina straightens her clothes and leans against the sooty wall. She allows her mind to drift and go blank, as it often does at the end of the night. A blessed but temporary calmness fills her until reality intrudes in the form of a shift-horn, a reminder that it’s time to pick her way home. Which she does, staggering under the weight of her exhaustion and self-loathing, until the splintery apartment door is securely locked behind her.

Only then does she allow herself to cry.

*

Tina fills the basin and scrubs herself pink before checking on her sister.

The suitcase is sealed and locked, as promised, with no sign of men around. She sighs in relief as she bends over Queenie. Her beautiful sister is bundled into her threadbare nightgown and sprawled inelegantly over the bed, snoring.

Tina tucks her in and kisses her forehead before hovering over the case, chewing her lip in indecision. She’s just about to knock when it cracks open to reveal gimlet green eyes. Newt lifts the lid the rest of the way to look at her, examining her face closely before stepping aside.

“Come on, then,” he whispers, and she’s only too willing to follow him down.

A narrow ladder descends into a cacophonous space containing all manner of oddments and instruments. Tina looks around in wonder while Newt—dressed in extravagantly striped pajamas and yellow socks, hair tumbled wildly about his head—prepares a steaming mug of _something_ and passes it to her.

“Here,” he lilts, careful not to touch her fingers with his own. “This will warm you up and help you relax. It’s _dreadfully_ cold out there.”

Tina nods and takes a tentative sip. The flavor of anise coats her tongue, and she closes her eyes in bliss while inhaling the fragrant steam. Warmth spreads throughout her numb limbs, working out the remaining tension in her frame. “Thank you,” she whispers and is surprised to find she means it. She eventually opens her eye to watch him shrug with one shoulder, flushing slightly when he drops his gaze.

“It’s really no trouble,” he assures and looks at her furtively. “You want to know what we did tonight.” It isn’t a question.

Tina debates being coy and dismisses the idea almost immediately. She nods instead and pastes a politely inquiring expression on her face, assembling it around a sip of her drink. He attempts to smile, and the resulting awkwardly crooked grin endears her.

“The younger Miss Goldstein slept, after I gave her a salve for her hands,” he says, speaking to her stockinged feet. “Then Jacob—sorry, Mr. Kowalski and I went to Central Park to retrieve one of my creatures. There were some, ah, _issues_ along the way, but we managed to work them out—and we were mostly unseen by the Muggles. Then we returned here, and I set up the hammocks over by my Thunderbird’s enclosure, and we went to sleep. Well. Jacob went to sleep. I found myself...quite restless.”

Tina stares blankly. “Muggles?” She asks in confusion until the penny drops. A moment to reflect on that, until her mind catches up to what else he had said. “You left the apartment?” Then, even more incredulous: “Wait—you have a _Thunderbird_?!”

Newt nods and smiles, a bit more naturally—and when did his eyes become so comfortable and _familiar_ to her? “Yes,” he says with a certain paternal pride. “Frank. He’s...well, he’s the reason I came to America, really. I’m set on returning him to Arizona. Then it’s back to England for me, once I’ve returned from the other side of the country.”

Tina knocks back the rest of her drink to stare at the empty mug mournfully as she digests this tidbit. She lifts her head to take in green eyes and red hair and boyish freckles, distantly surprised to find that she doesn’t disdain him—unlike so many of her clients. Possibly because he doesn’t _look_ at her the way they do, or possibly because he’s so childlike in mannerisms. It’s wonderfully different, and it gives her the nerve to ask another question as her spirit relaxes in increments and warmth fills her limbs.

“Can I see him? Frank?” Newt looks up from her feet to stare through wide eyes before blinking rapidly. He smiles, the expression open and unabashed, and it transforms his face entirely—rendering Tina breathless with the change because for a moment, just an instant, he is entirely a _man_. A good man, if the kindly wrinkles around his eyes and the sweetness of his grin are to believed.

“Of course, you may,” he says happily.

Newt opens the door and she stands shakily to follow, stopping only when he turns. “We must be very quiet, though,” he whispers, and his eyes fall to her mouth momentarily before returning to her imploringly. “We mustn't wake him, or any of the other creatures. They’ll become quite snarky and difficult to control should they not get their beauty sleep.” It’s a warning and a gentle tease in one, and Tina covers her mouth to muffle a delighted giggle. He looks shocked by the sound, and he stares at her until it becomes uncomfortable for them both, before lowering his eyes and leading her through the door.

They find the Thunderbird perched on a red rock, regal head tucked beneath one of his wings while he sleeps. Newt comes to a halt a good distance away, holding one finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

Tina nods and simply observes the creature, watching the peaceful working of its vast chest as it breathes, and marveling over the sheen of his feathers until she’s had her fill. She looks up in wonder at the glittering faux-constellations stretched above, the crescent moon and the snoring No-Maj tucked beneath it, before turning back toward the shed they’d so recently exited. Newt follows and offers another drink once the door is firmly closed behind them.

“No, thank you,” she politely turns him down. He inclines his head in acknowledgment and seems content to watch her as she shuffles her feet and plucks at her long nightgown, unwilling to depart just yet and casting about for something to fill the silence. “So—Frank, huh?” she blurts and winces when he blinks owlishly at her. “Sorry, I, uh, I should—go—”

“There’s no need,” he says quickly, and she wheezes. “Yes, Frank,” Newt continues. “I found him in Egypt, he was all chained up. I told Jacob the entire story, but he was trafficked and I couldn’t leave him behind. So I reclaimed him, brought him down here and have been rehabilitating him ever since. Aside from a quick stop-over in Sudan, I’ve been slowly making my way to America for precisely this purpose.”

He takes a measured breath at her intrigued expression and goes on. “I’m a magizoologist, you see. This is—this is what I _do_ , Miss Goldstein. I track these creatures and rescue them when necessary. Advocate on their behalf, and I’m doing my best to educate the rest of wizardkind.” A fragile pause. “I’m currently writing a book,” he admits shyly, and his cheeks go faintly pink.

“I’m guessing it’s not an extermination guide,” she teases gently, and he snorts a quiet laugh.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” he confirms, and his smiling eyes dance at her. Tina’s chest feels strangely tight, and she quickly looks away. The smile slips from his face as he winces and drops his head. Tina feels a guilty pang and is suddenly, sharply reminded of who she is and what she does for a living.

“I should go,” she mumbles after a beat, and he nods at the floor. “Well, it’s been—nice, Mr. Scamander. Thank you for the drink.”

“It was no trouble,” he whispers. He doesn’t lift his eyes from the floor, not even when she bids him goodnight and climbs the ladder. He’s still looking downward when she closes the lid behind her, and she resolutely pushes all thoughts of the eccentric magizoologist out of her head as she climbs discontentedly into her thin, narrow bed.

Sleep is a long time in coming.

*


	5. Chapter Five

*

Tina is yanked from restless sleep by a clatter and opens her eyes to a cringing Newt.

“I'm so sorry,” he winces, speaking directly to his boots. “Didn’t mean to wake you, Miss Goldstein.”

Tina glares at her battered alarm clock before covering her head with the thin blanket. “It’s too early,” she groans. She hears him sigh shakily before his footsteps cross the floor and the door opens, only to snap closed. Charged silence descends and, feeling hollow, Tina sighs before throwing back the covers and getting up.

Breakfast is a strained affair, and Queenie distributes the thin porridge listlessly. Her fingers, Tina notes, look much better than they had the night before. Her face is pale and strained though, and she keeps glancing at the newspaper before she finally sighs and leans against the counter to eat.

Tina takes a bland bite while automatically reaching for the _Daily Ghost_. She clamps the spoon between her teeth as she scans the cover page, only to freeze in shock at the headline. A vaguely familiar face, handsome in a cold sort of way, glares back at her. Besides that, the same face—only warped and deformed and _lumpy_ , somehow. Streaked with oily black as well, and very obviously dead.

“There’s been another one,” Queenie sighs sadly, and Tina shifts the spoon from one side of her mouth to the other. She scans the article and, somewhere in the back of her head, alarm bells begin to chime. She reads it again, more slowly, before leaning against the counter and meeting Newt’s curious gaze.

“Hey—Mr. Scamander?” Tina asks, blushing as she hastily removes the forgotten spoon from her mouth. She stands as casually as she can manage with her face heating up, and Newt allows her blunder to pass with only a mildly raised eyebrow. He looks at her in polite inquiry as he sets aside his own utensil. “Um, when exactly did you arrive in New York?”

He frowns and drops his focus to her right shoulder. “Just yesterday morning,” he answers, and Queenie catches her eye to nod once. Tina sets the paper aside with a sigh of relief. “Why?”

“No real reason,” she says as she takes another bite of porridge. “It’s only—well, there’s been something happening here in New York, and MACUSA—and the papers—want to blame a creature. I was just making sure it wasn’t, you know...”

“One of mine,” he finishes helpfully, and she’s relieved that there’s no heat in his words. If anything, he seems intrigued. “What’s been happening?” he asks, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

Tina wordlessly passes over the paper and watches him closely as he scans it. His mouth falls open when he finishes the article before he returns to the top to read it again, face slowly draining of color. His eyes, when they lift to hers, are wide and stricken.

“When did this start?” he asks hoarsely, and Queenie and Jacob turn toward him and go very still. Tina casts her mind back to morning newspapers and stilted conversations, to her sister tutting sadly at subway disturbances and the deaths of No-Majs. She wrinkles her brow in thought, unwilling to give an inaccurate answer. Everyone waits, the room holding its collective breath.

“Two weeks ago,” she finally decides, confident she’s within a day or two of right. Newt exhales shakily and brushes trembling fingers over the picture. His eyes look as though he’s seeing into a nightmare, and they shine strangely when he lifts them to her. It takes her a moment to realize that the strange glassiness is from _tears_. Her heart quails, just a little, and Queenie inhales sharply.

“Two weeks?” he repeats and then nods. “Surely MACUSA knows—surely they can’t _pretend_...” He trails off and his hand curls abruptly, wrinkling the paper before he casts it aside. His movements are stilted and deliberate as if he’s reigning in some great and powerful emotion, but his eyes are dry when he looks back at her.

“Tell me everything you know about what’s been happening, please,” he asks urgently, and Queenie stares at him narrowly before tugging Jacob’s hand.

“Come on, honey. We don't need to hear this,” she implores, and he follows without question. The bedroom door closes emphatically behind them, but Tina is too focused on the intent way Newt is looking at her to worry about them. Instead, she takes the vacated seat and casts around for where to begin.

*

Tina’s throat is burning with repressed emotion by the time she finishes telling him everything she knows to be relevant. It isn’t much, but it all seems to affect Newt. He flinches at the tale of subway destruction and makes a low, pained sound when he learns that people have died in these attacks. He hunches as if struck when Tina explains about the ruin of a crumbling tenement, before asking a question she isn’t expecting.

“Miss Goldstein,” he queries, and then stops. His eyes flicker rapidly through the middle distance, and she gets the sense that he’s feeling his way through a concept, groping for the right way to express it. “Is there a commonality in any of this? An individual who has handled this directly, or is somehow linked?” His gaze is as direct as she’s ever known it, and Tina opens her mouth in compulsive denial, only to inhale sharply when a thought occurs.

“There have been a few people from MACUSA involved but mostly, it’s Mr. Graves,” she says slowly. “He handled the subway and the tenement, at least. But, Mr. Scamander, he’s the head of Magical Law Enforcement. Wouldn’t he be directly involved anyways?”

Newt nods slowly, digesting this before looking at her keenly. “Yet you’ve thought of him, which means there’s _something_ that’s alarming you. What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she answers hesitantly. “Only that...” She trails off to shift uncomfortably when Newt blinks and moves imperceptibly closer. He examines her face, tilting his head curiously.

“What’s making you cautious?” he asks, only to hit upon the answer for himself. His eyes widen. “Oh,” he breathes. “Well, Miss Goldstein, I _assure_ you—you won’t get recrimination or _judgment_ from this quarter. Whatever it is you’ve seen or learned through your...dealings, it can surely only help.” He ducks his chin, looking at her imploringly from beneath the ragged fringe of his hair. “Please.”

Tina curls her hands into fists and eyes them, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she speaks to the scarred surface of the table. “He’s one of my regulars,” she manages in a hoarse whisper. “Has been for years. He always wants the same thing, and he’s very...easy...to serve. He pays me extra because I check up on the other girls for him.” She lifts her chin, defiantly meeting his gentle blue gaze.

“But he _changed_. Last time I saw him, a few weeks ago, he was...he hurt me, which he’s never done. He wanted different things, and of course I did them, but I had to take a night _off_ afterward, Mr. Scamander—do you know how much that cost me? And I still haven’t healed entirely...”

She can’t bear his incredibly tender expression or the mist in his eyes, so she looks away. “I don’t know if they’re related, but I know he’s _different_. And I know that the strange attacks started not long _before_ that, and it’s always been bothering me. I just never put it together until now.”

Newt hums thoughtfully, and it’s a profound relief when he drops his gaze. Tina takes a long moment to regroup, surreptitiously wiping her eyes and waiting until she’s firmly in control before looking around. He’s staring at the wall, jaw tight and body-lines tense until he turns back to her. Then he’s all kindness and freckles, bronze hair spilling over his brow as he sits and breathes, apparently lost in thought. He moistens his lips with a flash of pink tongue before speaking, and Tina stares.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that they _are_ related.” He blinks at her. “I’m just not sure _how_ , yet.”

“That makes two of us, then,” she husks out, and stands to do the dishes. It’s repetitive and soothing, and tense silence reigns when Queenie finally drifts out of the bedroom, dressed in her sturdy cotton work clothes, and kisses Tina’s cheek airily before bidding farewell to them both. Jacob appears moments after she’s gone, closing the door behind him and doing his best to blend into the wall.

“Come sit, Mr. Kowalski,” Tina says with a species of bemused exasperation, and he blushes and takes a seat beside Newt—who’s worrying his thumbnail while staring moodily into the middle distance until blinks back to the present to look at the other man, brow furrowing.

“No work today, Jacob?” he asks, and Jacob shakes his head.

“Nah, I took a few days off—wanted to have some time to draw up a plan if I got the loan.” He says this very matter-of-factually, and Tina’s intensely curious about why a man like Mr. Kowalski would be denied a loan in the first place, but then Newt turns back to her.

“Is there anything else about Mr. Graves you can tell me?” he asks, and thoughts of Jacob and the loan mystery lose significance. She wipes down the stove and counters the No-Maj way, blatantly stalling for time as she debates whether to tell him about Credence. In the end, the need to solve the mystery and possibly save the boy pain prevails over her caution, and she crosses her arms protectively when she turns to face him.

“There’s someone he’s fallen in with,” she begins. “A kid. Well, not a child anymore, but I suppose I’ll always see him as one. His name’s Credence. My sister and I have been keeping an eye on him for years, but Mr. Graves has just started meeting with him. The foreman at the factory saw them in an alley a few times—nothing _happened_ , he said they were just talking, but it’s still unusual. Queenie says that she’s tried to read Credence a few time, but it was all a confused jumble. She thinks he may be Occluding—naturally.”

Newt’s gaze is discerningly direct. “What is your relationship with Credence?” he asks bluntly, and Tina closes her eyes.

“He’s...part of the reason why I am who and what I am today. I protected him when he was younger, and I lost my job for it.” An honest answer, if an incomplete one. She can only hope that he won’t read deeper into it and ask for any clarification on the subject.

He’s still watching her with narrow-eyed interest when she finally braves looking at him, but then he inclines his head and allows the unasked questions to pass. For now. “Right. I suspect the two may be more related than we realize, but I need some time to think about it. Do you have any way of contacting MACUSA for more information? Or perhaps to alert them of the changes Mr. Graves has undergone?”

Tina snorts. “Not without getting arrested, no. Mr. Graves was a client in part to keep tabs on me. We have a history, I suppose you could say. After I protected Credence, he’s the one who kept me out of prison. He started to visit me regularly after I took on this life. He’s always been good to me, in his own way. Which is why the _change_ in him is so shocking.” A pause. “Why, what _else_ do you have to worry about?” She doesn’t intend it to come out so sharply, but no fixing it now.

“I still haven’t found my Demiguise,” Newt says smoothly. “But he’s a nocturnal creature so attempting to fetch him now would be a wasted venture. I missed my connecting train to Arizona, as I said last night, so perhaps I’ll go and see if a ticket exchange can be made. Then, once the sun sets, I shall go out and find my last creature before going on my way.” He smiles. “Though, if we could do something about the Graves question, I should feel much better about leaving. I don’t like the idea of an Obscurial being on the loose.”

“An _Obscurial_?” Jacob and Tina ask together, in matching tones of wonder and incredulity. Newt blinks at them, momentarily flummoxed.

“Surely you know that’s what this is,” he says to Tina, holding up the picture in the newspaper. When she just looks at him blankly, he rolls his eyes toward the ceiling before sighing deeply. “You don’t.” It isn’t a question.

Newt stands and motions for her to take his chair, which she does gratefully. He paces the length of her tiny kitchen space while gnawing his bottom lip. He pauses and turns before looking at Tina with a furrowed brow. “How do you not know?” He tips his head in confusion. “Surely you attended a wizarding school?”

“I was expelled from Ilvermorny in my seventh year,” she admits with a wince. Newt doesn’t question this, just turns smartly on his heel and resumes pacing.

“Well,” he says eventually, “I was also expelled, though it was never enforced. Hogwarts didn’t have Obscuri on the curriculum, so it’s a safe enough assumption that Ilvermorny also never taught the subject. Why would they, when it’s generally accepted that one hasn’t developed in centuries?” He snorts, and there’s a note of deep bitterness in it.

Tina’s eyebrows creep toward her hairline, and she notes Jacob watching them both with interest.

Newt turns to them abruptly, his face pale and set. “I met one,” he admits as his fingers curl into themselves. “In Sudan, three months ago. I was on my way to Equatorial Guinea from Egypt, intending to catch a steamer here to deliver Frank. I was in a tiny Muggle village when it happened, and it took me a few days to track the girl and her family down. I had to try and help, you see. I couldn’t just _leave_ her like that.”

Newt seems to realize that he’s getting tangential when he shakes his head briskly and looks up at them. “An Obscurus is what happens when a magical child _represses_ their magic. By refraining themselves from what is _natural_ , the child afflicted develops a magical parasite—one which eventually cannot be controlled or contained. Once an Obscurus grows strong enough, it can break free of the host temporarily and execute its own will on those around it.”

He shivers, eyes distant and haunted. Jacob and Tina hold their breath. “She was eight years old. They had locked her up and were attempting to _starve_ the Obscurus out of her. They couldn’t seem to comprehend that all they were achieving was killing the host while strengthening the parasite. Her father allowed me to attempt a separation, something that had never been done before.” Newt closes his eyes and reflexively rubs the inside of his wrist. “I failed catastrophically—she died there in my arms, but I was able to contain the Obscurus at the end. I have it still, magically neutered and in my case. I intend to study it upon my return to England. To glean what can be learned from it, and attempt to ensure that something like that never again has to happen to a child.”

Jacob’s swallow is loud in the heavy silence, and Tina blinks against the unexpected sting of tears. Newt has a matching sheen in his eyes, and he sniffles while rubbing his face meditatively. The rasp of his stubble is very loud in the silence of the room.

“That’s the thing in the snow,” Jacob says suddenly, and Newt nods in confirmation. “Jesus, Newt—no wonder you didn’t want me an’ Queenie near it!”

Newt hesitates before venturing a half-amused snort, and Jacob braves a very small smile. “It ain’t all bad, guy,” he goes on stoutly, and Newt drops his hand and attempts to square his shoulders. “You made the effort, and if the little girl died with you, well...I’m sure she knew that you—I’m sure you both know that you _tried_. From the sounds of it, that’s more than anyone else did.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” Newt murmurs, and momentarily meets his eyes. He fetches a deep breath and Tina watches him as her mind spins along, creating and discarding ideas almost as soon as they occur. One stands out and slowly takes shape, the tentative beginning of a plan forming, and she sighs heavily before glancing at the clock to gauge its inexorable crawl toward dusk.

“We’ll go after dark,” she decides, and both men turn to her blankly. She grimaces and begins again. “Sorry. What I mean is...there’s a person I know. He runs a business, and he’s—well. He’s interested in anything he can _sell_ , you could say. We parted ways some years ago, but I’ve been known to drop by and say hello. He has ties to MACUSA. I know some of their Aurors use him as an informant. I think we should go see him tonight. Drop a hint in his ear, and maybe he’ll tell someone who can investigate Graves better than we can. Dig deeper. Because I think you’re right, Mr. Scamander. I think there’s a connection.”

Newt glances out the window anxiously and nods. “I agree, Miss Goldstein. Um. Could you maybe tell us his name? So we needn’t refer to him as only ‘the informant’ going forward?” He hesitates before a small, crooked smile splits his face. “And perhaps, if you happen to know—does he have any interest in paw prints?” It’s a weak attempt at humor but Jacob grins freely. Tina grimaces, however, and Newt abashedly ducks his head.

“Gnarlak,” she pronounces with a curl of her lip, and there’s no mistaking the distaste and fear in her voice. The small spark of humor withers and dies until they’re all left somber and pale. “His name’s Gnarlak.”

*


	6. Chapter Six

*

Queenie arrives for lunch at noon, and Newt feeds her a small meal of his own making.

Tina seems drawn and tired after their talk, so he encourages her to get some rest before the eventful evening to come. She agrees after a token protest, and he sighs in relief when the door comes between them. It’s much easier for him to think and process without her lovely, dark eyes watching his every move.

He’s aware of how he comes across to people, and typically does his best to encourage that reputation. Eye contact will _always_ seem strange to him, far too intimate to initiate with strangers, and vaguely threatening. Many of his other peculiar traits and no-nonsense mannerisms were more the result of years spent around creatures than any conscious action on his part, and if he tends to go on and on about his beasts and other subjects close to his heart, well—who could blame him for being passionate? He chose to dedicate himself to them from a young age precisely _because_ no one else seemed to bother—with him or them.

He washes the lunch dishes by hand while thinking his long thoughts. His expulsion from Hogwarts and leaving for the war had been disguised blessings in many ways. It caused his family to write him off as a disappointment from a young age, thereby allowing him to pursue his eccentric career. His time in the Dragon Corps during the war had taught him more about human nature than he ever thought he’d need to know, and further strengthened his resolve to immerse himself in the magical parts of the animal kingdom. Life seemed _easier_ that way.

Which was not to say he never sought out human companionship of the female variety, because he _did_. He recognized, from a young age, that sex was as much a part of life as feeding and watering and cleaning himself. From his first dalliance (a lovely Ukrainian girl named Irina, who touched him tentatively through his uniform on a sun-drenched hillside) to his most recent (a widowed innkeeper in the Netherlands, a woman slightly older than he but equally as lonely; he would forever associate the texture of bear fur with memories of her skin), he had never allowed it to become stigmatized in his mind. Why should it, when sex was as essential to life as every other biological imperative?

Though the bookends of his encounters were on mutual footings, there were editions in between that were not. He’d bought his first woman two years after returning home from the war when he yearned for something _more_. Another woman came nearly a year after that, and then a very small handful as he traveled the world—women of all shapes, sizes, and colors, each of them warm and welcoming in a professional capacity, and adeptly capable of bringing him _base_ physical satisfaction. They expertly scratched the itch beneath his skin, and allowed him to focus on his life’s work without distraction. For a while, at least.

Now it’s going on a year since his last encounter, and the itch is distractingly present—yet he’d no sooner approach Tina than he would his own dear mother. How could he, when Tina is already _apart_ from them in his mind? Her bottomless eyes, the creamy expanse of her skin—so different from his own flecked hide...the easy way she weathered his scrutiny—she deserved so much _better_ than to be the tenderer of men in rut, nameless and faceless while on her knees in the dark.

Though he recognized and accepted the validity of her chosen life, the injustice at the base of it galled him.

Newt finishes the dishes with a deep sigh before flicking his wand to return them to the cupboard. He looks around to make sure there’s nothing else to be done before turning toward Jacob. The other man is watching him work his magic with typical boundless enthusiasm and smiles broadly when he approaches. “Jacob...is there anything you need?” Newt asks, and Jacob looks thoughtful.

“This place—it’s pretty rough, yeah?” Newt nods while glancing around in rueful agreement. “When do ya suppose the girls had something _good_ to eat last? Somethin’ that ain’t boiled cabbage, beans or porridge?”

Newt shrugs awkwardly and stuffs his hands into his pockets. In truth, he _had_ wondered that, but to admit his deeper feelings to Jacob seemed somehow disrespectful to Tina. Sensing the gist of the other man’s thoughts, Newt glances out the nude window before checking the clock. “We’ve hours, if you’d like to retrieve your case. I think the Goldstein sisters would quite appreciate something sweet.”

Jacob claps him on the shoulder with a broad grin. “That’s a _great_ idea, Newt. Really. Now, uh—you wanna do that thing ya do to get us there faster?”

Newt returns his smile, helpless to do otherwise in the face of the Muggle's obvious joy. He shrugs on his coat and gloves, stalling for time before answering. “It’s a lovely day, Jacob, and I’d quite like to stretch my legs. I think we should walk.”

Jacob grumbles but agrees, and Newt’s careful to use an elaborate locking spell when they leave the apartment and the sleeping woman behind. Jacob wryly comments on the deadly stairs while they sneak down them, and unfamiliar laughter bubbles from within as Newt soaks in the simple warmth of friendship.

*

Jacob’s instincts prove true, and after a humble supper of beans and rough bread, he produces his case with a flourish and a mumbled, “These have to be eaten before they go stale, really, it’s no trouble!” to great delight.

Newt happily chews a paczki despite not having much of a sweet tooth. It’s good, in a way he hadn’t realized he missed, and debates having another. Queenie eats without reservation, exclaiming her delight while Jacob beams unabashedly. Tina cleaves to the little cherry tarts, and Newt waits until they’re all distracted before spiriting two away, carefully placing them in stasis while slipping them into a hidden, cushioned pocket of his coat. He isn’t entirely sure why he does it, only that her tiny smile is charming in its own right; it makes him feel _warm_ inside, another sensation he didn’t realize he’d gone without for too long.

The sun sets as they enjoy their dessert, and the girls go into the bedroom to dress for visiting Gnarlak while Newt and Jacob hurry to feed and water his creatures. They’re unsure of how they should dress, so they simply neaten their everyday clothes while waiting for the sisters to take the lead. Newt casting a refreshing charm over them both and ensures their ties are straight to keep his nerves at bay, while Jacob bounces on the balls of his feet and keeps up a steady stream of thoughtless babble.

Queenie appears first, smiling and radiant and seeming to enhance the light of the candles. She’s wearing a lovely pink sheath that’s redolent with intricate bead-work, and her fair hair shines mellowly in the low light. Jacob quits his prattle to gape, and she giggles and floats across the room to stand next to him. He gallantly offers his elbow and she takes it, both their faces infusing with simple joy. _That’s all right, then_ Newt thinks while watching them. _It’s good they’ve found each other._

Then Tina steps out, and Newt allows his eyes to brush over her once before his brain stutters to a halt. He freezes, gulps, and snaps his head around to lingeringly take her in once more: from the black and silver t-strap heels capping her delicate feet, up the curve of her calves and over her knee-length hemline. Further still, lingering at the faint swell of her hip to where the front of the dress plunges almost scandalously low, revealing an expanse of creamy white skin and the barest hint of cleavage. Upwards, her slender neck and strong jaw and atop it all, glossy waves and red lips and dark, expressive eyes that are nervous but keen on _him_.

Where Queenie seems to enhance the light, Tina absorbs it—along with all the air in the room. Newt’s throat goes instantly, painfully dry. He swallows hard and gigs his case around to cover his front—an archaic, protective instinct. Behind him, Queenie giggles purely, likely picking up on the static refrain of his thoughts. In front of him, Tina watches his reaction a little warily, as if expecting him to heap ridicule on her. Or, perhaps, to throw himself at her without regard.

He does neither. Instead, he clears his throat—twice—and his voice is hoarse when he finds it. “Miss Goldstein,” he manages, and his voice does _not_ crack. “You look very nice.” She stares at him through narrow eyes for a moment before relaxing, a tiny smile gracing her red lips when she turns to her sister. Newt feels the loss of her attention _acutely_  and closes his eyes in pained self-recrimination as he wills away the tremble in his knees.

“We need to go, Queenie,” Tina reminds her gently, and the blond nods while Tina fishes out her wand. The younger sister and her beau move to frame her left side, and she quirks a brow at Newt until he shakes himself out of his reverie and moves to her right. She gingerly offers an elbow, her fair cheeks flushing delicately pink, and Newt hesitates a moment before accepting it—his rough palm and fingers delighting in the silken feel of her skin.

Then they’re thrown into the familiar squeeze of Disapparition and he can reflect, if only for a moment, on the way Tina had not only looked, but looked at him. He carefully wraps the memory and put it aside, thinking that it may be just the thing to drive away his nightmares of the past few months in favor of far more _pleasant_ dreams.

*


	7. Chapter Seven

*

The blind pig is in midtown Manhattan, and Newt looks around curiously as they step out of the alley. Tina watches him from the corner of her eye, cautiously intrigued by his reaction back at the apartment. He’d looked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time, and seemed unsure of just _where_ to put his eyes. It’s a new feeling, his level of polite regard. One she is certain she could get used to—or would, if she weren’t already locked into a life that prohibited such interactions.

Newt steps deliberately as they move down the narrow street, his head constantly swiveling as he scans their surroundings. She’s so focused on him that she catches her heel on a sewer grate and stumbles. He springs forward, quick as a cat and twice as strong, to steady her by the elbow. She stammers out her thanks when his hand lingers for a moment or two longer than necessary before they share a moment of intense eye contact.

Besides them, Queenie giggles delightedly. Tina breaks their gaze to shoot her sister a dirty look, and is rewarded with an unrepentant grin and saucy wink. _Just because you found a man,_ Tina thinks with irritation, _doesn’t mean I’ll be so lucky. You know it doesn’t work that way for whores!_ The smile slips off Queenie’s face while Newt looks at them in confusion and, bitterly satisfied, Tina stalks away from them both.

She eventually leads them down a discreet, narrow staircase. Gaining entrance is the work of a confident knock and secret passcode. Not for the first time, she’s grateful that Gnarlak uses a different phrase for his working girls than his customers, and more so when the bouncer takes her message and passes it along without question.

Queenie and Jacob make a beeline for the bar, so Tina leads Newt to a table tucked into a corner. She sits with her back against the wall so she can scan the smoky establishment with a jaundiced eye. Newt looks around before his gaze settles on her elbow, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he voices the obvious question.

“How do you know this place?” he asks softly, and chances meeting her eyes before dropping his own to the scarred surface of the table. Tina looks at him, fascinated by the play of candlelight over his bronzed skin and freckles, and decides on cautiously censored honesty.

“Gnarlak got me into the skin trade when I had nowhere else to turn,” she says simply, and his eyes widen. He looks her fully in the face seemingly without thinking about it, engaging her eyes while dampening his trembling lips. She looks back steadily and finds his eyes are dark in the low light of the club—dark and sad, and endearingly humble. Questioning, too, with the flicker of candlelight reflected in his wide pupil. A welcomed distraction, Tina allows herself to fall into his earnest gaze.

“However could you have come to that point?” he queries gently, and Tina’s eyelids sting without warning. She hastily blinks away the burn, and the spell is broken. He bows his head with a wince while pressing his lips together firmly, while she tilts hers back to stare at the ceiling and will away the unwelcome tears. A calloused finger brushes hers fleetingly when a wrinkled handkerchief is pressed to her hand. She takes it gratefully and shows a wobbly smile in thanks.

“That’s a long story,” she settles on, “and I promise to tell you the whole thing someday. For now, let’s just say he found me at my lowest point and helped me pick myself back up. I had _nowhere_ else to turn, and he taught me the ropes enough to keep me from hanging myself.”

Newt absorbs this in contemplative silence until he’s interrupted by Queenie and Jacob bearing a dented silver platter loaded with drinks. Tina hesitates a moment before knocking back a shot of Gigglewater, carefully smothering her involuntary reaction. Newt reaches for a cocktail, taking a polite sip before setting it aside. Queenie and her beau wander off to a secluded corner, and Newt follows them with his eyes before turning his attention back to Tina. She swallows nervously at the determined set of his jaw while fingering the rim of her empty glass.

“I’d like to hear the full story someday if you’ll permit me," he murmurs. “For now, I must ask how it is that you and the boy are related. You can tell me to mind my own business, but you said you lost your job because of him, and that Graves is a recurring client of yours, and now he and the boy are in collusion. Add to that the Obscurus, and it’s all very intriguing.”

Tina looks him in the face to convey her honesty as her fingers abandon the glass. “Credence was a _kid_ , and he was working because his parents died— kinda like what happened to me and Queenie, which was one of the reasons I started to keep an eye on him. Not the only reason, though.” She pauses to gather her thoughts, momentarily racked by a grief that the years still hadn’t blunted before going on.

“He was taken in by the owner of the New Salem Shirtwaist factory, him and his sisters. Her name’s Mary Lou, and she beats him. She beats _all_ those kids she adopted but she seems to hate him the most." She fetches a deep, shaky breath. "He made a mistake one day and jammed a machine, and she came down and threatened to feed him into it. I...well. I lost my temper. I don’t even remember what happened, really—but I know I attacked her with magic, and I know it was a big scandal. MACUSA had to intervene.”

Tina stares, no longer seeing him as she looks into the past, their objective of the evening and the man across from her forgotten as she recalls the path to her ruin. “They Obliviated everyone involved, No-Maj and wizard alike. They arrested and held me for weeks—by the time I got out, I’d lost my job, and Queenie was sick because she couldn’t afford rent and food on her own. She started working at New Salem a few weeks later because she wanted to keep an eye on him."

Tina voice a watery sigh, eyes hardening despite the tears standing in them. “Protecting Credence almost cost me everything, but I had to do it, Newt.” She uses his given name without permission, and she does not notice. She _does_ notice the brightness in his eyes, and her heart cracks a little with the way Newt swallows while pawing at his face. He clears his throat before speaking, voice little more than a hoarse whisper, and Tina watches him with renewed wonder.

“I’m sorry to have asked, Miss Goldstein. I did not intend to cause you distress.”

“My whole _life_ causes me distress,” she sniffs while carefully dabbing her face with his handkerchief. “At least you’re asking for a good reason. You aren’t rubbing it in or holding it against me. And, you haven’t even offered me money—all in all, I’d call it a banner evening.” It’s an incredibly weak joke and in poor taste, but she chuffs out a strained laugh all the same. His lips tremble until he presses them together firmly.

“I’d never proposition you,” he promises, and if possible, his voice is even quieter. “I don’t _see_ you like that, Miss Goldstein. I didn’t before, and I certainly don’t now. You are...more...than your station in life.”

It’s a poignant statement, especially coming from so tight-lipped a man. Tina looks at him through wide eyes, and he looks back at her levelly. She forgets her tears and distress when he holds her gaze without flinching. The seconds stretch between them, the moment turning long and languid until a soft whisper floats to her, effectively ending their tableau.

“Teenie—it’s him,” Queenie hisses, and Tina realizes that her sister is biting her lip and wringing her hands. She forces herself back to the here and now by wrenching away from Newt’s bottomless green stare. He blinks at her before shifting his focus to just over her right shoulder, mouth curling into an unhappy bow.

“Well, _hello_ Tina,” a voice growls from behind and _beneath_ her, and Tina closes her eyes as adrenaline floods her system, causing her muscles to thrum and her throat to tighten. She inhales deeply before turning to face the owner of the voice, putting on an aloof expression and straightening her spine to project a confidence she does not feel. Beside her, Newt shifts and seems to become more _alert_ while watching them both closely.

“Hello, Gnarlak,” she answers, and once more faces a past she’d just as soon forget.

*


	8. Chapter Eight

*

Gnarlak is a goblin, a fact which surprises Newt, but only momentarily. From what Tina had said, the cold logic of it was undeniable: a goblin _would_ be greedy enough to oversee the trade of skin for coin, and it was the goblin in front of him who’d help orchestrate her fall into a bitter and thankless lifestyle.

Newt’s dislike of the beady-eyed creature is instinctive. His instant loathing for the brute and what he represents, however, is entirely on Tina’s behalf.

Tina projects an aura of calm and poise, and Newt absently admires her control while keeping the majority of his focus on Gnarlak. The goblin leers at her, taking in the expanse of pale skin revealed by her dress, cruel eyes darting from her glossy hair to creep over her body and legs.

“Tina,” he growls, “you ain’t _never_ let me sample the wares, and now you come steppin’ up to my joint lookin' like _that_?” He lays a gnarled but theatrical hand over his chest. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

“I’d be doing New York a favor if you died,” she says flatly, “and this city never did any for _me_. Besides, that’s the reason I don’t work for you anymore.” She shakes her head with mock regret, and Newt’s estimation of her goes up another notch. “I’m not about to do things that aren’t natural.”

“It ain’t unnatural if both parties are wantin’ it and willin’ to pay,” the goblin rejoins with an unpleasant grin, and Newt has to grimly restrain the sudden, unexpectedly _violent_ urge to put his fist through that pointed smile. Gnarlak leers at her nastily before pasting on a bland expression when a house-elf comes over with a drink, which Gnarlak tosses back neatly. Another elf arrives with a scroll for him to sign, and he does without sparing a glance for his guests.

Tina meets his eyes briefly from across the table: a warning. Relieved by the distraction she offers from his uncharacteristic thoughts, Newt inclines his head fractionally while very slowly withdrawing his wand from its hidden place in his trousers. She blinks her approval before turning back toward the goblin.

“Mr. Gnarlak,” she begins in an even tone, “you know this city better than anyone. You have your finger in just about _every_ dealing. I’m sure you know about the strange attacks, but we were wondering...what do you know about Mr. Graves over at MACUSA?”

She’s using a humble, almost simpering tone and layering on the flattery— _well done, Miss Goldstein_ , Newt thinks with approval, _but do be careful not to put this creature off-balance. I think it could be quite hazardous to your health._

Gnarlak senses the falseness, for he sneers at her with open hostility. “You want information?” he growls. “I got what you need, but ya know it's gonna cost ya, and I doubt you can afford my price.”

“We can make it worth your while,” Newt interjects smoothly, and Gnarlak turns the full force of his glare on him.

“I see ya brought your bodyguard,” he sniffs nastily at Tina. “I didn’t know a five-cent whore _needed_ one. You trying to get high-class work there, Goldstein? Well, you shouldn’t bother—you and I both know where you’re from and what you’re _worth_.”

Tina’s cheeks flame red. Newt’s knuckles creek when they tighten around his wand. The urge to hex the foul brute across from him is almost overpowering, but he manfully shoves it aside to take a fortifying breath. “Miss Goldstein is assisting _me_ ,” he corrects in as level a tone as he can manage.

Gnarlak shifts his cold stare to him, and Newt inwardly sighs in relief when that flat glower is no longer directed at Tina. She looks at him questioningly, but he grimly ignores her in favor of keeping all his attention on the wily creature. The wretch chomps down on his cigar and leans back casually, looking for all the world like he’s simply out with friends and not bartering for potentially life-saving information.

“What do you need to know?” Gnarlak asks finally. “I ain’t guaranteeing an answer, but tell me what you want and I’ll name my price.”

“I was wondering what you could tell me about a Mr. Graves,” Newt answers blandly. “Also, if there have been any strange sightings around the city since last evening. Tracks. Pawprints. That sort of thing.” He forces himself to meet the goblin’s unpleasant eyes.

“It’s gonna cost ya,” Gnarlak says without hesitation. “I heard about the destroyed tenement—that your work? MACUSA’s offerin’ money for information, so you’ll have to make it sweet if you don’t want me to turn ya over to ‘em. As for Mister Graves, well—ya gotta pay for him first, _then_ I’ll tell you what I know. And he ain’t gonna come cheap.”

Newt reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out all of his American coins. He stacks it on the table, and Gnarlak looks at him skeptically before tossing his head back with a bark of derisive laughter. “MACUSA’s offerin’ a lot more than _that_ ,” he sneers.

Nonplussed, Newt digs a little deeper to pull out his Lunascope. He sets it next to the coins, a tacit package deal, and arches an eyebrow. Gnarlak shakes his head with a smirk. Unruffled, Newt pulls out one of his greater bargaining chips: a frozen Ashwinder egg, held in careful stasis. He gently sets it down next to the other offerings.

Gnarlak raises his eyebrow and leans forward. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he breathes, and Pickett, ever curious, chooses that moment to poke his head out and chirp questioningly. The goblin spots him and his greedy eyes light up as he points a twisted finger.

“Wait a second—that’s a bow—that’s a _bowtruckle_ ,” he breathes with unholy excitement. Newt protectively covers his friend.

“No,” he says, and Pickett trembles against his hand.

“Aww, c’mon,” the goblin attempts in a cajoling tone. “They pick locks, am I right?”

Newt leans away, tightening his grip on the wand hidden against his leg. “You’re not having him,” he asserts, and Gnarlak glares before sighing with false-regret and struggling out of his seat.

“Well, then,” he says, turning his back on them both. “Good luck finding what you need, Tina, Mister English Guy.” Newt watches him prepare to leave with a sinking feeling. From his periphery, he can see Tina’s look of horror and despairs inwardly as his resolve crumbles. He’s about to open his mouth to offer his oldest friend when Tina speaks up—refusing to meet his questioning gaze but shoulders back and expression _fierce_.

“How about me?” she asks, and both Newt and Gnarlak hold their breath. “You’ve always hinted—so how about he keeps the bowtruckle, and you take everything he offered—and me. In exchange, you tell us what you know about Graves, you tell us what’s been spotted and _where_ , and you send MACUSA a message tipping them off that they may have been infiltrated.” She trips to a halt while deliberately putting her back to Newt.

It hurts _viscerally_ when she turns away from him. He can’t articulate why, not even to himself, but it does.

Gnarlak pivots toward her while flicking his cigar aside casually. It arcs through the air before disappearing, and Newt focuses on its trajectory because looking at Tina is inexplicably painful. Still, he watches from the corner of his eye as she squares her shoulders and proudly lifts her chin to meet the goblin’s filthy gaze. Newt swallows the sudden, bitter taste of regret.

The loathsome creature steps toward her, and Tina turns to Newt at last. Her eyes are amazingly serene, and he loses himself in them before she touches his hand fleetingly. “Will you—I mean, could you—in the morning, can you please come get me? I can’t ask Queenie, she wouldn’t be able to handle it.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “She shouldn’t have to see that, but I think...I think you’d be okay, Newt.”

He stares into her lovely face, certain that the jangling in his ears is the sound of his stoic facade crumbling to pieces at the sheer bravery displayed by this woman. “I’ll be here,” he promises hoarsely, and she musters a wobbly smile, just for him. Then she squeezes his hand, and he wonders if she feels it too: the tingle that works through their connection, sinking through his skin to vibrating against nerves, bone, and tendon. He thinks she might, because her mask slips for the barest second, and he can see the yawning terror lurking beneath.

Then she’s gone, and his hand is cold and empty when she turns away once more.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she whispers when Gnarlak laughs darkly and cruelly takes her wrist, but not before snatching her wand and stashing it in his clothes.

“Somethin’ invisible’s been wreakin’ havoc around fifth avenue,” he tosses carelessly over his shoulder. “You may want to check out Macy’s. As for Mister Graves, well—you ask a lot of questions, Mr. English Guy. That can get you killed. My advice? _Leave it alone_.”

Newt watches in despair as a hidden side door swings shut, cloistering the goblin and the girl behind the clink of heavy bolts. He looks around desperately, lost and floundering as something in his chest twists painfully. Queenie finds his eyes from across the room and goes pale. He jerks his gaze away, only to land on the table, still burdened with coins and assorted illicit items.

Pickett chirps gently from his breast pocket—and Newt knows a single, awful moment of pure hatred. It must show on his face (he feels raw and exposed, now, unable to hide his reactions), for Pickett retreats with an agonized sound and Queenie rushes over to them.

“It’s not your fault, honey,” she tries, and he soundly ignores it.

“Well, it certainly isn’t _hers_ ,” he grinds around the emotions choking him, and Queenie and Jacob exchange a look. An idea takes shape in the back of his mind—a stupid, probably reckless move that would likely get her arrested, and himself almost certainly—but one he’s terrified he may have to attempt despite the risks. Because if he’d understood the subtext of Tina’s plea correctly, Gnarlak had nothing _good_ in mind for her. Nothing she was likely to survive wholly intact, at any rate.

Queenie gasps, picking out the color of his ruminations. She resolutely steps into his personal space and moves with him when he recoils unthinkingly. “Do it,” she implores, and Jacob nods from his place at her side.

“Whatever you’re thinkin’, Newt—don’t talk yourself out of it,” he husks, and his broad, kindly face is ashen. “You gotta get her outta there, man.”

Queenie turns away from him, face running with tears but shoulders set. “We’re gonna go get someone, see if we can find an Auror or even a No-Maj cop—you go get Teenie and _get lost_ , do you understand? Don’t let her get arrested, and keep yourself safe too. We’ll be back.” She bends to scoop up his case, and Newt hesitates before allowing her to take it. With an obvious attempt at putting on a brave face, she takes Jacob’s arm and after one last, long look, spins them into Apparition.

Newt stares at the empty space where they were just moments before, gathering his courage and pushing his fear deep down, where it can’t get in the way. Then, at last, he allows himself the satisfaction of simmering, red _rage_ , pulling it around him like a protective shield before flinging himself after her.

*


	9. Chapter Nine

*

It’s the smell that hits her first: the olfactory equivalent of a slap in the face. It’s a low, almost subconscious miasma, one that speaks of misery and too many dirty bodies in too close a space, and she recoils instinctively.

Thankfully, Gnarlak doesn’t notice. He’s too busy swaggering ahead of her, confident as only a goblin can be and not bothering to check that she’s following. He _knows_ she is, and besides: she volunteered for this. Her pride, the last coin in an otherwise empty purse, keeps her here.

Her only hope now is that Newt understands the hidden meaning in her final request.

The door he leads her to is sickeningly familiar. This used to be _her_ room, back when she worked for him, and she swallows down bitter memories when he flicks his hand to unlock it. Blue wards shimmer around the splintery wood, and any thought of escape loses cohesion at the sight. She draws a deep breath as she centers herself. Then, with her back straight and her chin in the air, she precedes him into the room.

It hasn’t changed much. There’s still the creaky bed, with its red satin sheets. The same lamps with their silk coverings. Even the familiar basin and ewer, with it’s small, cloudy mirror hung over it. Tina can’t hide her shudder of revulsion as unpleasant memories crawl up the back of her throat, and she crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

“Now we’ll see something,” Gnarlak growls from behind her, and she carefully rearranges her expression into blank neutrality before turning to face him.

“What do you want?” she asks, instead of _what do you mean_. She strives to keep her voice level and he smirks at her weak attempt.

“Feeling brave now, eh?” Gnarlak asks. He has a long, lethal-looking blade in his hand before she even registers the movement, one that narrows to an almost invisible tip. An anathema, and goblin made by the looks of it. Tina shivers against her will. His lips curl into a charnel smile.

“You’re gonna take your clothes off for me,” he says. “And you’re gonna do it real slow-like. If you don’t...” he waves the blade threateningly, “I carve up your face. _Slowly_.” His unpleasant grin widens to proudly display all his pointy teeth. “Gonna be real hard to find fuck-work all covered with scars, ain’t it?”

Tina swallows and drops her arms. “I guess it would be,” she manages, hating the tremor in her voice but powerless to stop it. “H-how slow do you want me to go, Mr. Gnarlak?”

“ _Slow_ , you stupid bitch,” he snarls, and she only just manages to tamp down an instinctive recoil while her fingers worry the hem of her dress. _Stall,_ she reminds herself. _Queenie and Newt won’t allow this to happen, even if you were stupid enough to walk right into it. Stall until you can either get your wand or get the drop on him. Use your brain, Tina!_

It’s flimsy comfort, but it’s enough to spur her into action. Calling upon every ounce of her Brooklyn-bred fortitude and the determination that lives at the core of her, she arranges her face into what she _hopes_ is a suitably come-hither expression, pops her hip and rolls her shoulder saucily before smirking.

“Slowly, then,” she says in a breathy voice that shakes only minutely and grasps the hemline of her Ford dress.

*

Tina manages to keep it together after her outer layers are removed, and through discarding her light corselet. Peeling off her stockings is difficult but doable. Removing her camisole, however, is more of a challenge than she dares to admit even to herself, and her hands shake terribly as she slowly, _slowly_ pushes the thin straps off her shoulders. Gravity does the rest and the thin rayon barrier pools around her feet with a soft whisper. Tina resists the urge to cover her breasts and sex with her hands, but only just.

_Stall_ , she reminds herself feebly, but it feels hollow in the face of her own mortification.

Gnarlak makes a pleased sound while pressing a gnarled hand against his groin. Tina looks away with a grimace, and he utters a harsh bark of laughter. “You wait,” he promises. “You haven’t been fucked properly until you’ve been _goblin_ fucked.” Tina recoils with a low, hurt sound, viscerally disgusted. He laughs harder, and the sound of his zipper is very loud in the heavy silence of the room—

— a room which is suddenly _much_ quieter than minutes before, she realizes and grimly banishes her growing despair to the back of her mind in an attempt to focus.

A long, keening wail sounds from outside, followed by a crash that makes the walls tremble. The unmistakable patois of a house-elf shouting a warning comes after Gnarlak has craned his head toward the door with a fearsome scowl: “ _MACUSA are comin'!_ ”

Savage triumph sweeps Tina when Gnarlak snarls a greasy goblin curse and stuffs himself back into his pants. He flicks his hand at her casually and magic _freezes_ her. She’s unable to move and barely able to breathe, but that doesn’t stop her from glaring at his retreating back. Panic claws at her throat but she grimly pushes past it. Then, not helping, she smells the unmistakable tang of smoke.

He does too, for he curses again, a savage refrain, and waves his hand at the door. The wards shimmer and fall just before it flies open, hard enough to rebound off the wall before a blue-clad arm catches it. A yellow wand flicks from behind the shield of the door jamb and Gnarlak goes flying, impacting the wall opposite with a ghastly _crunching_ sound before going still.

A booted foot and familiar leg, both clad in brown, ease around the edge, followed by battle-narrowed green eyes and an unruly mop of hair. Relief washes over her, turning her knees to water while the binding spell holds her upright. She squeaks in her throat to catch his attention, unable to speak.

Newt performs a sweep of the room before stopping to check Gnarlak. He sighs in obvious relief at finding him alive, grimly binding the goblin’s hands and arms. “MACUSA should be quite interested in you, my smelly friend,” Newt murmurs while divesting the goblin of her wand, and semi-hysterical laughter bubbles inside her. He looks around quickly before closing and locking the door. Then he turns to gather her scattered garments.

Tina notes, through the haze of conflicting emotions, that he doesn’t _look_ at her. He’s obviously aware of her nudity but his eyes remain fixed on her face, tender and open and _disarmingly_ concerned. It takes him three long strides to reach her before he shrugs out of his blue jacket to drape it gently around her shoulders. “Are you hurt?” he asks urgently, and she widens her eyes at him. His brow scrunches in confusion, and he steps back to scan her limbs—still looking at her with that same careful reserve.

“Immobilized?” he asks, and she squeaks an affirmative. “Goblin magic,” he sighs, and she squeaks again, questioningly. “I have some experience,” he explains, “but it’s _bloody_ difficult to work around. Hopefully, _this_ should do the trick...”

He waves his wand in a complex pattern while uttering a series of guttural growls. Tina can _feel_ the conflicting magic washing over her skin, which humps into goosebumps at the texture: Gnarlak’s invoking the sense of slimy, many-legged, filthy things, while Newt’s puts her in mind of warm hearths and cozy blankets. She wishes only to wrap herself in it.

Sweat stands out on Newt’s brow as he holds firm against the magical backlash until the goblin’s spell lets go with a grudging snap. Tina gasps and tumbles forward, stiff limbs too tingly and numb to hold her until solid, warm arms catch her about the waist. She sways weakly into him and breathes deeply of his scent in profound relief.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs in her ear. “I’ve got you, Tina.”

From outside, shouts and the sounds of battle. She can hear Aurors charging through the corridors, and house elves calling to each other. His hands tremble slightly as he helps her work her arms into the sleeves of his blue coat, murmuring apologetically all the while. Newt secures her wand and underclothes in the sheath of her dress, his movements clinical and detached as he tucks the bundle beneath his arm. Tina can’t wrap herself in his magic so she uses the next best thing—his coat, imbued with the comforting scents of sunshine, herbs and _him_ , as she allows him to take her hand and lead her away.

*

The labyrinth magically hidden behind the Blind Pig is a chaos of leather-clad Aurors, shrieking house elves, scantily-dressed working girls, and smoke.

Tina clings to his hand, the only stable point of contact in the cacophony of battle, and follows blindly as he ducks and weaves through narrow, crooked corridors before flat-out sprinting down the long alley leading to the front of the bar. A leather coat flashes in their periphery and he abruptly changes trajectory to pull her into a tiny closet. Spell-fire flashes by and Newt reaches into his jacket to pull out a small, sticky _something_ while deftly avoiding contact with her skin.

He whistles to the thing in his hand before tossing it—and Tina watches in awe as a spiny, winged creature bursts out, blue and green and apparently impervious to spell-damage. A spell rebounds to hit its caster, and the beast clicks happily when an Auror topples over before swooping down to land on his face. The creature’s narrow proboscis extends to uncoil a long, thin tongue, and Newt springs forward.

“ _Leave his brains_ ,” he exhorts, tone equal parts exasperation and amusement, and the creature turns to him with a questioning buzz. Tina gapes while Newt clucks his tongue. “Come on, come on,” he cajoles with a hoarse whistle while urging her back into a shaky run, and the animal leaps at Newt to fold neatly back into its cocoon. Newt catches it on-the-fly without a single missed step, and wildly inappropriate laughter bubbles out of Tina.

“What is that thing?!” she asks breathlessly, and his eyes cut to her for a bare instant.

“Swooping Evil,” he pants, and she isn’t sure if it’s a _name_ or a _warning_ or maybe both, so she laughs and shakes her head in disbelief.

“Well, I love it!”

He smiles at her from the corner his eyes as they reach a long, narrow corridor. They round a sharp bend and there before them is the bar, glowing like a beacon. Newt squeezes her hand and slows them down from a sprint to a jog, pulling out his wand to stop just short of the door. He tucks her behind him before peeking around the corner, ascertaining the safety of the room. A sweeping glance, then he nods sharply while quirking his brow. _Quickly,_ his eyes transmit, and she nods once to show her understanding.

They step out in a perfectly synchronized movement. A voice shouts for them to “Stop!” but Newt is there, his arm going around her and, in one smooth stroke, Disapparating them away.

*

They land in an alley a few blocks over from the Blind Pig, the same one she’d brought them to earlier.

Newt looks around quickly before casting a privacy spell and, after making sure that she’s okay to stand on her own, stepping back. Tina orients herself to her surroundings before catching Newt’s eyes, suddenly and inexplicably nervous.

“I had it under control,” she begins, more brusquely than she intends. _No help for it now_. “I volunteered to do it, remember? So you wouldn’t have to give up your...bowtruckle...thing.”

“Pickett,” he corrects absently, and his coat pocket chirps. She looks down at it in surprise and Newt smiles gently while meeting her eyes. “And yes, Miss Goldstein, I know you did. And it was incredibly brave, and a humbling experience for me. But I couldn’t leave you there.” He hunches his shoulders. “I need your help finding my Demiguise, after all. And we’ve received our information and tipped off MACUSA, as well as bringing down a criminal. I’m sorry if you feel that I overstepped my boundaries by ‘ _rescuing_ ’ you.”

She can hear the air-quotes around the word and sighs in momentary annoyance before letting it go. “It’s not really a problem,” she grudgingly admits. “But I did have the situation well in hand.”

“Do you make a habit of fighting criminals naked?” he asks idly, and Tina thinks about it for a moment before allowing herself to laugh.

“No,” she admits. “I actually don’t get naked as much as you might think. Not to fight crime, anyways.” Newt grins at her and it transforms his whole face, turning the careworn lines into youthful sunshine. She stares at his sudden radiance until he blinks and drops his eyes awkwardly. Tina looks away and casts around for something else to fixate on. She spots the bundle of her clothes, set aside on a clean patch of ground with her wand sitting innocently on top, and crows happily.

She shrugs out of his jacket while reaching for her underthings, already missing its comforting weight and thinking nothing of the nudity they’d just bantered over. Newt stares agog for a long moment before whipping around. Amused, Tina watches his ears flame red as she dresses, waiting until her hemline drops into place before teasing him.

“I’m dressed and _decent_ again. Your purity is still intact,” she quips dryly, and he flinches before turning to her. She passes over his jacket and he’s very careful not to touch her while taking it. He shrugs it on and pops the collar, then squints at her dress and dainty shoes.

“Have you anything warmer?” he asks, and Tina looks down at herself with a raised eyebrow.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she admits, and her nipples choose precisely that moment to tingle and harden with the cold. Embarrassed, she quickly crosses her arms over her chest and taps herself with her wand, transfiguring her Ford dress into a soft white blouse and a long black skirt, her shoes into black pointy-toed boots. A boxy gray blazer goes over it all. Newt examines her ensemble critically.

“That’s better,” he decides, and Tina rolls her eyes.

“Now that I have your approval, can we go?” she asks briskly, and he grimaces at the ground. Tina sighs and clasps her elbows. “Look. I don’t mean to snap. Only it’s late, and it _is_ cold, and I’m worried about Jacob and Queenie, so...” She stumbles to a halt and he clears his throat before looking up.

“Not to worry. Jacob and Queenie are down on Fifth Avenue, waiting for us. We will rendezvous with them and find my Demiguise. Then, Merlin willing, I can be on my way.”

_Maybe I don’t want that_ , she thinks, but quickly hides her expression. Instead, she moves beside him and takes his arm. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?” she asks, and he’s opening his mouth to answer when she jerks them into Apparition.

*


	10. Chapter Ten

*

Capturing the Demiguise proves both easier and more difficult than she thought possible. Easier, because he very helpfully makes himself visible. Harder, because they aren’t expecting the Occamy.

Tina thinks that, if she _never_ sees a teapot or a cockroach again, it’ll be too soon.

They Apparate to an adjoining rooftop after setting Macy’s to rights, landing beneath a giant neon Squire’s sign before Newt shepherds them all into his case. Jacob and Queenie happily see the Demiguise into his strange hanging home, while Tina is allowed the honor of handling the Occamy, supervised by a beaming Newt. She holds it delicately while it slithers into its nest, where the creature coils amongst its brethren to caw at her happily. Tina grins down at it before looking around in awe.

This is her second time down here, but her first with almost all of the creatures awake and active. The large and intimidating Erumpent stamps to the edge of her enclosure to trumpet a friendly hello, while the Graphorn family cavorts around playfully. Flying creatures both large and small flit about her head as birds trill and the Nundu roars impotently at it all. Dominating everything is the Thunderbird, large and magnificent and peacefully roosting on a sun-warmed rock, watching over them benevolently.

The case is warm and homey in a way that is utterly alien to her, and she suffuses with simple joy the longer she remains. It allows her to view Newt through the lens of his home (for that’s what the case is: his home; she realizes this immediately), and she thinks that, perhaps, his heart may be even _more_ expansive than this magical space. She can think of _no other reason_ for him to be so pleasant to the Jarveys, who spit insults and curses at them as they walk past on their tour.

Queenie and Jacob’s heads are held conspiratorially close together over by Dougal. They are deep in intimate conversation if the giggles and hushed sighs are any indications. Slightly jealous but deliriously happy for her sister, Tina pokes around Newt’s shed while the man fusses about on a feeding table, sorting bins of feed and soaking in the joy of the people around him. He wears a small, secret smile, and she doesn’t miss the way he very occasionally glances over at her.

She’s next to the case of Billywig stings that she sees it: a sepia-toned wizards photograph. It features a young but beautiful woman with flowers woven into her hair tossing her head and smiling coyly. She spots Tina and the smile turns into a smirk, her chin rising haughtily. Something in Tina’s chest starts to quiver at the gesture, and she plucks up the picture without thinking. “Hey, Mr. Scamander?” She turns toward the door to hold up the photograph and forces herself to meet his eyes. “Who’s she?”

Newt looks up with an expectant smile to glance at the item in her hand. His smile turns brittle before slowly falling away, aging him ten years in an instant. He blinks hard and hunches his shoulders, and Tina tastes the tang of regret hanging heavy in the air.

“Oh, that’s—that’s no one,” he finally lies unconvincingly, and Tina brings the photograph closer to her face. The girl in the frame is now glaring, pretty lips twisted into a sneer, and Tina looks hastily away.

“She’s very pretty,” she prods weakly. From across the case, Queenie is looking at Newt with a dazed expression—one that slowly gives way to deep despair. Newt, she realizes, wear the same look, eyes distant as he loses himself in what appears to be a very unpleasant memory. His eyes cut back to her after a long moment, shining glassily in the hazy sunset.

“Yes, well,” he says vaguely. “I suppose she was. Is.” A pause, an unsteady breath. “She was...my friend. Neither of us really fitted in at school, and so we grew quite close.” He drops a seed pod and sighs deeply before turning to her, looking her in the face. “You said, at the Blind Pig, that your past was a long story, and I did not press the issue. May I ask you, Miss Goldstein, that you extend the same respect to me in this instance, please? I promise that someday I will tell you the whole sordid tale, should you still wish to hear it.”

He turns sharply to speak over his shoulder. “And please don’t read my mind.” Tina follows his gaze to find Queenie standing just to his left, still wearing that stricken expression.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she murmurs while chewing her lip. “I can’t help it. People are easiest to read when they’re hurting.” She wrings her hands and visibly gathers her resolve. Then, with a bravado that Tina admires, she plunges on. “That was a real close friendship you had at school, Mr. Scamander. For _years_. But that was wrong, what she did to you.”

Queenie pauses to nibble her lip once more, her eyes sharp as she reads him. Newt, in the meantime, has gone eerily still, and Tina experiences the almost overwhelming urge to step close and tuck his head against her shoulder, to run a hand over his hair and do whatever it takes to remove that devastated look from his face.

“She was a _taker_ ,” Queenie finally declares, voice cracking slightly on the last syllable. “You need a _giver_.” Her eyes flick briefly to Tina with weighted understanding before return to him.

Newt releases a shaky breath, while Tina holds hers. Queenie shakes her head sadly at them both and drifts away, allowing Jacob to fold her into his arms. He looks at them curiously but without comment before leading her toward the artificial sunlight on the other side of the Erumpent enclosure. Tina watches them go, focusing anywhere but on Newt.

“Does she do that often?” he asks after a time, voice hoarse, and Tina scuffs the floor with the toe of her boot.

“More than I’d like,” she finally settles on, recalling her sister’s pointed look. Newt snorts and wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand before rallying himself as she pretends not to notice.

“Well, I shall work on my Occlumency then. Wouldn’t want her to dig up _all_ my skeletons,” he drawls. It's a feeble attempt at humor but it eases some of the tension so she manages a tiny laugh.

“I don’t have any left,” she confesses, and this time laughs for real. He does too, a low, rich sound that seeps into her chest, and Tina’s suddenly unable to draw adequate breath. He stops laughing at the same time she stops breathing, and they look at each other across the space between them. Newt tilts his head slightly and she follows; he smiles, slow and gentle, and she mirrors it.

Tina holds her breath, and Newt steals it when his smile broadens and strengthens until it reaches his eyes.

Then thunder crashes to punctuate Frank’s sudden screech, and the moment is lost.

Tina gasps, heart pounding against her ribs while Newt blinks dazedly before running over to the Thunderbird’s enclosure. He takes the steps two at a time to crouch before the beast, head craned back as lightning and rain play across his features when he reads the signs. 

“Danger,” Newt declares flatly and chills chase down Tina’s spine. “He senses danger.”

Queenie and Jacob trot over, wearing identical awed expressions, and Newt turns to them. “Get your things,” he instructs, walking swiftly toward the shed and pulling on his blue coat. “We have to go up and see what the situation reads.” He murmurs and his Bowtruckle crawls out of its pocket to hug his breast momentarily, before clambering onto the crowded workbench. Tina bites her lip but can’t look away when Newt strokes its leafy head with one tender finger, crooning gently.

He turns back to her, blinking his eyes hard against tears, and thinks a moment before murmuring, “I wonder, Miss Goldstein if perhaps our visit to Gnarlak hasn't escalated thing. I have a hunch that the Obscurial may be on the loose once more, and if Frank’s reacting...” Newt trails off, and Tina needs no further prompting.

She tightens her grip on her wand before following him up the narrow ladder. “You guys stay down here,” she instructs her sister and her beau sternly, and they nod like pliant, trusting children. Tina steps onto the rooftop and Newt bends to seal the case, but not before murmuring reassurances to the two remaining below.

“We’ll keep them safe,” Newt promises while meeting her eyes, and Tina nods because she’s too choked with fear and nerves to speak.

He moves, and she follows. They hurry across the roof to climb onto the rusting scaffolding holding up the lurid sign, and together begin a silent vigil over the city.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE: Next update won't be until Tuesday, May 2nd. This is so I may post Saturday Smut on its normal schedule.**


	11. Chapter Eleven

*

Something explodes in the distance with a flat, declamatory cough. From much closer, ashes and sparks swirl upwards as the scent of burning wood fills her nose. Tina recoils instinctively from the sounds of combat, but Newt climbs onto the ledge before them for a closer look, head tilted inquisitively.

Another explosion sounds, then a string of them. Distant screams rend the night. From only a few blocks over, something black and _seething_ boils down the street, raining destruction on everything and everyone in its path. It glides past them from far too narrow a margin, and Tina is suddenly eight-years-old and angry, _so angry_ at the cruel hand of fate—an orphan, poor beyond belief, and burdened with a precocious doll of a sister for whom she will do _anything_ to ensure her survival.

The oily black mass screams away, and the negative feelings fade until they’re only a distant memory. Tina gasps in shock, and Newt spares a moment to evaluate her from the corner of his eye. His face, she notes, is very pale, but his jaw is set determinedly.

“Is that it?” she asks, and her voice is amazingly steady. “Is that the Obscurus?”

Newt nods tightly. “That’s more powerful than any Obscurial I’ve ever heard of,” he murmurs. His head turns to regard her, and his eyes are dark pools of mingled determination and despair. “They’re not killing it,” he says firmly, and she recalls with a sinking feeling: _there’s no recorded instance of an Obscurial surviving past the age of ten_.

Tina closes her eyes for a moment, fighting against a near-crippling wave of hopelessness.  _A child_ , she thinks despairingly. _Why must it always come back to children?_

Tina opens her eyes to find that he’s turned to her and is watching her intently. She moves nearer to him, close enough to feel his breath puffing against her cold cheeks. On his face sits an expression of mingled hope, regret, and something else...something indecipherable, but that makes her heart clench in alarm. He reaches into his coat pocket as he pushes his case toward her.

“If I don’t come back,” he says softly, speaking into her eyes, “look after my creatures.” He withdraws a battered leather journal, monogrammed with NS on the cover. This, too, is gently placed in her hand, and he lingers for the barest moment with his calloused fingers on hers. “Everything you need to know is in there,” he clarifies.

Newt takes one final, lingering look at her face, seeming to map the topography of her features in a single hungry glance—his eyes full of everything they could have said to each other. Then he turns in a flurry of brown and blue and leaps off the roof to Disapparate in mid-air.

“ _NEWT!_ ” Tina cries, but her echo mocks her.

*

From across the blocks, screams and cinders shoot into the air. Tina recognizes Times Square as the epicenter, and Disapparates despite the burden of the case. She lands before an apothecary on the far edge of the cobbled street and hurries to duck behind an overturned car. The Obscurus—a boiling black wrath—writhes in front of her, and she stares in dark, avid fascination when it destroys a theater until a figure approaches from the side. One that’s tall, with salt and pepper hair over a long, dark jacket. One she _knows_.

_Mr. Graves_ , she thinks with furious clarity. _We thought you were involved, but how?_

Tina clutches the battered case to her chest as she inches toward the man and the monster. Graves stands fearlessly before the Obscurus, speaking to it in even tones. She creeps a bit closer, ducking behind piles of wreckage until she can hear his words and read the expression on his face.

“To have survived so long with this inside you, Credence, is a miracle. You are a miracle.”

_Credence?!_

“Come with me. Think of what we could do together.”

The Obscurial— _Credence_ —roars its frustration and turns on Graves. The Director of Magical Law Enforcement throws himself backward, narrowly avoiding death or injury when the Obscurus boils over him and down the street. From the corner of her eye, Tina watches a familiar blue coat leap behind a car just in time to save himself. Protective anger surges through her.

Graves picks himself up and dusts off with a fussiness entirely at odds with the desperation of the situation. Tina grimly shifts her hold on the case when he turns and walks away, freeing a hand. She bends and wrenches free a loose cobblestone before drawing back and throwing it with all her might.

It connects with the middle of his back with a solid _thwack_. She feels a moment of savage triumph and carefully hides the case before revealing herself. “Mr. Graves!”

He whirls, face twisted into a scowl. “Goldstein,” he growls. “You’re always showing up where you’re least wanted.” He lifts his wand, and casually erects a shield to dodge her attack. She may have been in the Dueling Club at Ilvermorny, but those years are long behind her and there hasn’t been much time to practice since. Her magic feels sluggish and clunky but she grimly hangs on, waiting for an opening to toss back a hex or a spell.

She holds her own as he goes on the defensive, and the man’s face twists further when he realizes that she’s holding him up. He snarls while wandlessly lifting a Ford into the air—the same car the case was hidden behind. They both fly toward her, allowing her only the barest second to leap out of the way. The automobile lands in a shrieking crumple of metal mere feet from her. Graves whirls into Disapparition, the case alights to the cobblestones with a clatter, and Tina is left to pick herself up while cursing bitterly.

A work-roughened hand circles her wrist, hauling her gently to her feet.

“ _Tina_ ,” Newt breathes while urgently scanning her face through wide eyes. His voice jigs and jags with the effects of adrenaline. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she manages around her own cloying fear and anger and bends to pick up the case. “I saw them, Newt. Mr. Graves—and Credence. _He’s the Obscurial_.”

Newt goes very still. “But you said he’s not a child,” he manages, and the shake in his voice grows even more pronounced. “His power must be so strong—he’s somehow managed to survive—it’s incredible—”

Tina closes her eyes and steps closer. “Newt,” she says softly. She unthinkingly places her hand on his chest, effectively silencing them both as his chest rises and falls, his heart frantic beneath her palm. They hold their breath when she opens her eyes to meet his, and the moment stretches poignantly between them. “ _Newt_. Save him.”

The tinkling of shattering glass breaks through their reverie and Newt swallows very loudly while his heart, if possible, beats even faster. He sketches out an aborted half-gesture, there and gone, and Tina holds her breath in fear, in wonder—then he’s blinking sorrowfully as he walks backward. Her hand falls, and Newt’s eyes are damp when he Disapparates after one last long, searching look at her face. Tina watches him go with a sinking feeling.

Behind her, the Obscurus roars its hurt and rage, bass tones deep enough to feel in the marrow of her bones as it gathers and takes flight. Tina pulls out the bravery she knows lives at the core of her being, the harsh pragmatism that has seen her through her entire life, and turns to face it.

She goes, intent on following Newt and Credence while protecting the precious case.

*

From two rooftops over, Newt stands in a non-threatening posture with his arms over his head. “Credence!” she hears him shout. “Credence, I can help—!” He cuts himself off to hastily Disapparate when the Obscurus hooks sharply and plows toward him. Tina looks around frantically, just in time to see him reappear in mid-run and chasing along a narrow ledge. She follows grimly, always keeping a safe distance as the case beats a discordant rhythm against her legs.

Newt executes another heart-stopping leap, and now Tina sees flashes of spell-fire—seemingly aimed at both man and Obscurial, with little concern for who gets injured. A protective and fierce anger flashes through her, and she slides behind a water tank to cast her strongest shield over Newt. It proves no impediment to him when he ducks behind a door for cover, but two spells deflect from it and bounce off the Obscurial. It screams and charges toward the ground, landing with an earth-shattering crash.

Silence. The flashes of blue and white light stop as the city seems to hold its breath.

Tina Apparates to the rooftop across from Newt, where he steps cautiously out from behind his cover. Their eyes meet and he nods once before dropping them to the ground below. Tina follows his gaze to see a small, narrow and stooped figure, partially camouflaged by writhing black tendrils, creeping into a subway entrance.

_Credence_ , she thinks, and her heart breaks in her chest. _I’m sorry, Credence. I had no idea._

She hears a pop from across the way and looks up to see that Newt has vanished. She looks back toward the subway entrance, gnawing her lip in indecision before squinting at the sign in the low light. She still has no idea where Graves has gone, but she assumes he’s going to be chasing Credence down there—and the thought of the three of them doing battle makes her palms sweat.

_Keep him safe_ , Tina reminders herself, not sure if she’s referring to Credence or Newt or both. She Disapparates to a subway entrance three blocks north and hurries underground.

*

The case weighs her down as she trots, but she dares not stop to adjust it. Tina perseveres past the dry rasp in her throat until a burning stitch settles into her side. She slows just enough to press it with one hand, panting through the pain until she can see the glow of electric lights and hear what sounds like voices.

One voice, actually—pitched low and soothing and with a distinctly non-American lilt. _Newt_ , she thinks with unmistakable relief and stutters into a shambling walk.

The rail beneath her feet began to thrum but she ignores it until she hears a _zap_ and a cry—then someone is blundering toward her at the same instant she realizes light is building behind her. A train, and coming fast by the sound of it.

Tina throws herself in a tiny niche on the side of the track, an alcove with barely enough room for her and the case. She _feels_ the wind of the passing cars against her face and watches the shocked faces of riders in the flickering, lighted rectangle of windows. Then it’s gone with an echoing roar and she’s running toward Credence and Newt and the unknown.

She rounds the bend to see a flash of cruel blue light accompanied by a hoarse cry. Credence crouches on the rails to her left, sobbing brokenly with his back turned to the two men behind him. Tina stumbles to a halt, momentarily stunned. Credence looks up, and she can see the darkness writhing just beneath his skin. Mere feet beyond him, Graves has gained the higher ground and is whipping Newt with electricity, funneled through his wand directly from the third rail to land in hissing lashes.

Newt chokes a stifled sob between shocks, and Tina can see his limbs flailing helplessly, his useless wand still clutched in his hand. She drops the case to pull out her own wand at the precise instance Credence loses his struggle, and she’s forced to throw herself backward when he roils to the ceiling and toward the two men.

Graves stops his lashing, and Newt struggles to look up at the Obscurus. Tina hangs back, determinedly fighting every instinct to _run_ while clawing against the echoes of her past. The tunnel collectively holds its breath until Credence dives towards Graves, and both Graves and Newt Disapparate away.

Things move very, very quickly after that.

From her vantage point, Tina watches Credence crash about the platform, destroying everything in his path. Graves and Newt perform an elaborately evasive dance until the very ceiling cracks open and Credence boils out, only to come thrashing through moments later, screaming his fury. Newt and Graves cower together on the tracks, mutual animosity forgotten in the face of certain death, and Tina moves without thought.

“ _Credence, no!_ ”

She darts forward, one hand extended in a gesture of peace to step into the light. Above her, the Obscurus freezes and condenses into itself, swirling gently and radiating confusion. From deep within the maelstrom, Tina can just make out Credence’s face. She thinks he looks terrified.

“Don’t do this,” she implores softly, stepping closer. The Obscurus swirls, color transmuting from an oily black to a soft gray, and continues its slow contraction. Tina dares another step, never dropping her hand or her eyes.

Newt and Graves uncoil, Graves climbing to his feet as Newt maintains his defensive posture. She can see his filthy and ravaged face from the corner of her eye, and she longs to make sure he’s alright—but first, she has to ensure that Credence is taken care of, because, in the end, it has always been about _him_.

“I know what’s been done to you,” Tina continues in that same soft, soothing voice while stepping closer. “I know you’ve been hurt. I’ve done my best to watch out for you—Newt and me, we’ll protect you. This man, he’s _using_ you.”

“Don’t listen to her, Credence,” Graves interjects, climbing onto the subway platform. “I only want you to be free.”

Tina shakes her head flatly, and Newt straightens his back while steadying his grip on his wand. He’s watching their interactions sharply, eyes darting between Graves, Credence, and Tina. Above him, Credence continues to calm down, the mass of the Obscurus slowing to lazy ripples, and Tina allows a fissure of hope to break through her fear and confusion.

Then, from the stairs, a thunder of footsteps. A regal-looking woman with an elaborate headdress steps out, surrounded by men and women in long, leather dusters. Aurors. Tina turns to them while making frantic shushing noises. Above her, behind Newt and putting him dangerously in the line of fire, the Obscurial cries out and _spreads_ out, darkening and sending up sparks.

“No!” Tina exclaims fearfully. “You’ll frighten him!”

They don’t listen, of course, and she has just enough time to fall onto the case protectively as spell-fire shoots over her head. Matching shouts of _“No!_ ” fill the air as Newt and Graves drop in one coordinated motion, before Newt turns and _flings_ himself at her. He’s just managed to cover her when the Obscurial explodes in a flash of white light, taking the shadows and Credence’s hunched and miserable form with it.

Silence seeps in then, the world eerily still in the aftermath of Credence’s short life and violent end.

Tina blinks in shocked disbelief, tears cutting through the subway dust on her face, and looks at the space Credence, her surrogate son, had once occupied. There’s nothing there now but a slightly scorched indent in the stone. Oily black tatters rain from the ceiling, disappearing before her eyes.

Newt turns to check on her, and his filthy face is _racked_ by grief, tears washing clean tracks through the grime on his cheeks. He turns back to where the Obscurial once was, and she can see the stoop in his posture, the burden of his failure. _That’s two_ , she thinks numbly. _Two children lost, and how much more guilt can a man like him carry? It’s too much already._

He climbs shakily to his feet while watching through narrowed eyes as Graves turns to face the Aurors—his employees, and the woman who came down with them. Tina, through her grief, vaguely recognizes the president of MACUSA, but that knowledge has no emotional impact. She’s still too numb with horror and guilt. She can hear them talking and the woman giving orders, but none of it gets through until Newt puts a warm but shaky arm around her shoulder and gently leads her away.

That’s when Graves pulls out his wand and turns their world on its head.

*


	12. Chapter Twelve

*

Newt and his creature save the day.

Tina isn't surprised when MACUSA is unable to hold their own against Graves' attack, but she _is_ surprised when Newt gets the upper hand by cleverly using his Swooping Evil to prevent Graves from harming any more Aurors. The beast proves an effective distraction and shield while Newt's wand slashes through the air with a sense that he's been holding this one back. A sticky rope bursts out to bind the Directors' wrists, and Tina watches the play of emotions across Newt's face as he advances on the restrained man.

No one is less surprised than she when his clearly-spoken _Revelio_ uncovers Grindelwald’s disguise. No one, except, for Newt, who displays no outward reactions at all. The feedback from his wand while performing the charm is unexpected and he frowns at it in momentary annoyance, but there are bigger things to worry about so neither of them gives it any thought.

MACUSA takes the dark wizard in, and Newt seems...eerily bemused by the whole exchange. He watches it all impassively, despite helping the president out of a bind—releasing his Thunderbird with some hastily cobbled, technical explanation about venom and Obliviative properties. Tina isn’t sure, but she _thinks_ he may have just collectively hauled their irons out of the fire, and she _knows_ the president is suspicious of him and his motivations. Yet they have no other possible recourse, so Picquery tells him to keep his nose clean before sweeping imperiously out of the subway, ignoring Newt and his case in favoring of commanding her lackeys to clean up the remainder of the mess.

_Well,_ Tina thinks acidly, _I can see why your approval ratings are so low, Madam President_.

The somberly-dressed Aurors do not harass them further, so Newt and Tina unobtrusively step into the shadows of the tunnel. Newt bends to check his case before breathing a long sigh of relief. He reels slightly when he stands though, and grabs for the wall while squinting at her in the low light.

“Thank you, Tina,” he mumbles, and she can’t be sure she’s not imagining the mushy way he forms his words. She takes a closer look at him, wondering what could be wrong while taking his arm to steady him against a slight list. Newt sags into her embrace with a pained sound.

“Anytime, Mr. Scamander,” she replies and bends to pick up his case. He leans more of his weight onto her and she grunts, shifting her stance to compensate for the extra load. Tina opens her mouth to say something only to stop when he turns suddenly waxy-pale, his eyes very wide and shiny in his face.

“I like it better when you call me Newt,” he slurs, and Tina yelps when his eyes roll back and he collapses senselessly into her arms.

*

Tina panics and Apparates them directly into her moldering apartment, restrictions be damned. She groans as she deposits Newt on the couch, keeping a wary eye on him when he woozily curls around himself. The case clattered unceremoniously to the floor and she slams the latches open while shouting for her sister. Newt, meanwhile, rests his forehead against his knees and breathes in long, shaky pulls.

“I’ll call you Newt all you want, Mr. Scamander,” she babbles helplessly, hands fluttering about his shoulders like wounded birds. “Just don’t faint on me like that again, and _please_ don’t get sick all over our couch—the smell will never come out.” He makes a watery sound that could charitably be called laughter, before lacing his arms over his midsection and shuddering. Tina takes in his filthy, too-pale face and the sweat standing on his brow, and hastily conjures a basin.

Queenie and Jacob clamor out of the case, her saint of a sister instantly snagging onto the thread of their thoughts while rushing to Newt’s side. “Oh, honey,” she breathes, maternally pushing back a tendril of coppery hair. “What did you do to yourself?”

Jacob wrings his hand while Tina hovers anxiously, and Queenie, _bless her_ , takes effortless control. “Jacob, sweetie,” she calls over her shoulder, “I need you to get me some water and a clean dish rag. Teenie, get that coat off him—gently, please. He was thrown when Mr. Graves or whoever he was attacked him, and he hit his head. All his thoughts are sorta swirling around and—oh _no_!”

Queenie dives but Tina is closer. She abandons his coat sleeve to position the basin beneath his head just as Newt makes a strangled _yurk!_ sound and loses the battle with his gorge. Her sister grimaces and moves away, but Tina tenderly strokes the back of his neck and his hair as he retches, until the fit passes and he slumps against her. She can feel the heat coming off him, and she uses the soft rag to tenderly wipe his face when he blindly turns to her.

“—Sorry—” he gasps into the fabric covering her shoulder, and she shakes her head with a shushing sound. Newt presses closer with a sigh, shoulders slumping. Tina tries very hard not to think about how filthy he’s making her blouse, or the damp of combined sweat and tears seeping through to her skin.

Queenie watches them both, gnawing her lip before seeming to come to a decision. “Jacob and I are gonna go,” she whispers. “He has a neighbor he wants to check up on, and Teenie—I think you can handle this. He’s hurt, but he’ll be okay. Just keep the basin handy and clean him up. He’s gonna go to sleep, he can’t really do nothing else.” Her sister pauses, looking at her imploringly. “Is that okay?”

Tina scrubs her hands over her tired face, sighing deeply. “Do I have much choice?” she asks, sharper than she intends, and Queenie flinches. Feeling suddenly monstrous, Tina tries again, much more gently. “It’s okay,” she says, striving for an even tone. “Go ahead and check on the neighbors. May as well check on Mrs. Esposito while you’re at it, but don’t let him be seen.” She exhales slowly. “Come back later, or don’t. I’ll take care of Mr. Scamander. Anything else I need to know?”

Queenie shakes her head and pulls her into a shaky hug. “You’ll thank me later,” she whispers in her ear. “Teenie, he thinks about you a _lot_ , and it’s all roses. Clean him up, let him sleep, and later or tomorrow—talk to him. Please.”

“You’re all wet,” Tina growls, ruthlessly suppressing an inappropriate fissure of _hope_ , and Queenie sighs again.

“I’m not,” she argues, “but you’ll never know unless you try.” She steps back to thread her fingers through Jacob’s and Disapparates them away with a small wave. Tina glowers at the space they occupied only seconds ago and irritably blows a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Thanks for the help,” she says dryly before turning back to her patient.

*

Tina's patient vacillates while she peels off his layers and tends to him. Sometimes, he is almost perfectly lucid, only occasionally straying into vagueness or losing the topic of whatever rambling dialogue he maintains. Other times, he seems to regress all together, turning as sulky and petulant as a child while she cleans and repairs and addresses his burns and injuries.

Newt somehow manages to work his head into her lap, moving restlessly as she tends to the shallow wounds caused by flying chips of subway tile. “Hold _still_ ,” she hisses for the umpteenth time as she attempts to heal the tiny cuts dotting his cheek and temple. He moans and rolls his head irritably away.

“That stings,” he says grumpily. Tina momentarily tightens the grip on her wand while digging deep for patience.

“This would go quicker with a cleansing charm,” she snarks back. He grunts.

“Do that, then,” Newt challenges, and Tina allows herself the temporary, vicious satisfaction of being petty.

“ _Scourgify_ ,” she hisses, pointing her wand directly at his head and putting a good deal of force behind it. He _yelps_ and turns his face away when the spell flows over his skin, his chest hitching as he makes a low, keening sound of raw pain. Tina’s frustration folds in on itself and collapses at the sound, leaving an emotional void that despair rushes in to fill.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers while tentatively stroking his hair, shocked and appalled by her own behavior.

Newt sniffles and presses his face into her stomach, the puff of his breath warming the skin of her navel. He inhales deeply and she feels him relax, turning limp and yielding beneath her hands.

“I’m sorry, too,” he eventually mumbles, his tone that of a person caught between sleep and wakefulness. “I’ve never been a very good patient. That’s why I taught myself to heal my own injuries at a young age. Which I should be doing now, but everything in my head feels...stirred. Tossed about.” He breathes carefully. “Did I sick up on you, Tina, or was that a dream?”

“You did,” she murmurs while cradling his head, “but I caught it in the bucket in time. No harm done.” Reminded of the mess, she magics it away. A long look at him and she makes the basin disappear, too. His color is better, the dazed, far-away look slowly receding from his eyes, though they still can’t quite focus on her.

“’m sorry for that, too,” Newt whispers. He curls deeper into her, his sharp elbow resting against the curve of her thigh. “Did I take a knock to the head? I’ve felt this way before, during the war. I was tossed from my dragon and landed badly. Spent two days in a bloody hospital tent. I was dizzy when I stood up for _weeks_ after that.”

“Mmhm,” Tina confirms with a nod. “Graves—well, _Grindelwald_ , I suppose—Queenie said that you got thrown when he attacked you. Hit your head on the rail, or a tie, I’m not sure which.”

“Credence,” he says after a moment, and his voice is watery. “He distracted me. I turned my head to check on him and my shield faltered. The backlash of that is what got me, then Graves did the rest. I’m feeling rather _cooked_ from the entire experience, truth be told.” It’s delivered in such dryly measured tones that Tina feels bad for the giggle that escapes her throat—confused as she is about her feelings toward both him and what happened to Credence—until he chuckles too, weakly but _there_.

She playfully pokes his shoulder and he makes a low sound before curling tighter into himself. “You aren’t cooked,” she says lightly, “but you are certainly rather...singed. You’re going to need a bath when you’re feeling up to it. There’s only so much magic and a dishrag can do.” Tina looks down at her lap, watching the fan of his lashes fluttering against the sharp ridge of his cheek, and smiles.

“True, Miss Goldstein.” He yaws suddenly, jaw popping before it snaps shut. “Forgive me,” he slurs, and now she can _see_ him drifting off. Sudden exhaustion settles itself around her like a mantle then, cloying and _heavy_. “I’m going to fall asleep, I think.” Another yawn, longer and deeper. “Terribly rude of me.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Tina whispers and allows her fingers to curl into his hair. He hums and tips his head into the contact. She reaches for the threadbare afghan on the back of the couch and draws it around them both, tucking his shoulders in tightly. Then she lets her head fall back and closes her eyes, feeling him loosen against and around her, hearing his breathing deepen and draw out.

Sleep takes them like a clumsy but eager lover, and they know nothing for many hours.

*

The sun burns into her eyes, bringing her to a sore and soupy consciousness. Tina voices a muzzy groan as she lifts a hand to rub her stiff neck. A hand that is not her own beats her to it, work-roughened but slender fingers curling against the knobs of her spine. She accepts the massage with a relieved sigh.

“My fault,” someone whispers from her lap. “I fell asleep on you, forcing you to sleep upright. It’s no good for the neck; puts a terrible crick in it.” Newt’s voice is thick with sleep, shaving off some of the crispness of his accent and adding fur to his words, and she squeezes her eyes shut against a sudden, visceral reaction. _Don’t do this_ , Tina reminds herself, not for the first time. _Last time you fell in with a fella, it did not end well for you. Keep it together, Goldstein_.

Still, she has to clear her throat twice before she can dare look at him, and her breath wheezes out of her when she opens her eyes.

He’s resting on his back and facing her. His hair, still dusty from the subway battle, tumbles chaotically around his brow and cheeks, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and _warm_. They glint in the bright light of noon and hold a bottomless affection, staring her nakedly in the face. His hand slips from behind her neck to brush lingeringly against her cheek before he drapes it across his midsection. His smile, when it shows itself, is heart-stopping.

“I think I hit my head quite hard, Miss Goldstein,” Newt says in a low voice. “For I suddenly can’t seem to control my mouth or thoughts around you.” He hesitates a moment, and she sees the struggle behind his eyes. “I had a most _marvelous_ dream—you featured quite predominately in it.” He inhales shakily. “Sleeping surrounded by your scent inspired it, I believe.”

Tina gulps. “M-my _scent_?” she manages to squeak past her dry throat, and he jerks out a small nod.

“Yes,” he whispers, drawing out the final syllable. “It’s been...a long time since I’ve slept close to a woman.” He squeezes his eyes shut, only to focus them unerringly on her own, deep blue and wide. His mouth curls into a frown. “I apologize. Please don’t think me crass, Miss Goldstein. I’m afraid I’m not entirely in control of my faculties right now.”

Newt shakily plants a hand on the cushions and leverages himself upright. Tina feels the loss of his comforting weight acutely but does not allow her disappointment to show. She lets him go, half-fearing his walking away, half-fearing his staying behind. _What is wrong with you_? She thinks despairingly and closes her eyes with a frown.

Tina opens them when Newt hunches over himself, feet on the floor as he breathes through the initial ache of movement. “ _Bugger_ ,” he growls as she watches him from the corner of her eye. He makes his feet only to sway woozily. Tina’s hand darts out to steady him and he clutches it convulsively as he straightens, only to drop it when he takes a shaky step forward.

Tina hovers anxiously when he toddles over to the case in an educated stagger. He resembles nothing less than a drunken sailor when he stoops to loosen the twin locks, and his face is alarmingly pale when he sways upright. Tina locks an arm around his waist to temporarily steady him and Newt bestows another breathtaking smile upon her.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, then emphatically steps out of the ring of her arm. “But I think I’ve abused the privilege of your company quite enough for today, Miss Goldstein,” he mumbles while looking anywhere but her face. “And I _am_ sorry for overstepping my boundaries. What I said and implied was...not appropriate.”

“Did you mean it?” Tina blurts out before her nerve fails. His eyes widen when they take in her face, and she feels very exposed while going on weakly. “What you said—the dream. Did you...did you mean it? Did you really dream about me?”

“Yes,” he whispers, and Tina closes her eyes. “I’m sorry—” he begins, but she overrides him.

“Don’t be,” she cuts in, striving to keep her tone light. “I think I may have had a dream about you, too. Like you said: it’s because we were so...close.”

“Yes,” he repeats. Uncomfortable, he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, only to grimace at his fingers when they come away dusty. Tina covers her mouth to smother a sudden burst of humor. “I’m in need of a bath, I’d say,” he grouses with an elegant curl of his lip, and her giggle turns into a full-throated laugh. She watches as he relaxes at the sound.

“We have a washtub in the other room,” Tina offers. “No running water here, but it’s easy enough to fill and Vanish with your wand.” She wills the roses blooming in her cheeks to go away while doing her best to project an air of easy confidence. “You can use it if you’d like. There’s even a lock on the door.”

Newt swallows and makes a vague gesture toward his case. “I don’t think I can manage the stairs just yet,” he admits. “If you’d allow me to summon clean clothes and then grant me privacy, then yes, I’d be amenable to using your tub. Um. Provided you’ve no wish to use it yourself first.” His cheeks flush. Tina, awkward but inexplicably endeared, gentles her tone even further.

“You first,” she says with her softest smile, the one she knows reveals the dimple hiding in her right cheek. “I’ll go set up the tub, you get your things.”

She doesn’t wait for his answer before striding into the other room. Only once the doors are closed behind her does she allow herself to falter, pressing her hot face into them and _breathing_ through the gap. “This isn’t allowed,” she reminds herself in a whisper. “You can’t _do_ this.”

She hears items whistling through the air from the other side of the thin wood and gives herself another second to wallow before fetching the hammered tin basin and a thin towel. She freshens and fluffs the wrap magically, setting a warming charm on it before enlarging and filling the tub with steaming hot water.

Newt enters the room after knocking softly, bearing clothing identical to the ones he was currently wearing and a slimy brown cake of homemade soap. Tina grins a little and gestures to the pan. “I didn’t think you’d want to smell like Lifebuoy,” she teases, and he blinks before looking at the ground.

“Only anise and juniper scents for me,” he teases in a mumble, smiling when she laughs merrily. “I have a bathing pool down in my case so I grow soap berries for that, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate me bringing a handful of leaves up here. You already think me wild and uncouth, no reason to reinforce that image.”

Tina laughs again. “Sounds like you’re feeling better,” she delights, and he ponders this.

“I am, a little,” Newt admits. “The room is _mostly_  steady around me, and my stomach has settled. I’d quite like some tea, actually—later. After I’ve cleaned up.”

She ducks out of the room with one last parting smile, leaving him to his ablations. Tina leans against the doors after closing them behind her, eyes closed as she rues the impossibility of her life and this situation. _You really can’t do this,_ she reminds herself feebly and prepares to walk away. Then she realizes that the bolt on the door had never slid home—he hadn’t locked her out.

Tina, suddenly giddy, is unable to refrain from smiling.

*


	13. Chapter Thirteen

*

Newt emerges from the bath scrubbed pink and clean. He’s still bearing three days’ worth of stubble but seems refreshed, and Tina does her best not to stare. Intent on distracting herself, she clumsily prepares the tea he’d left on the counter. He manfully endures the over-steeped brew, finishing it to test the limits of his stomach before declaring himself hungry.

Tina winces while looking around, finding only potatoes and the barest odds and ends. Newt eyes her hesitantly before waving a hand toward his case. The lid opens and various items come whizzing out—a loaf of bread, a crock of jam, and other assorted foodstuffs. He lines these things up and insists that she eat too, so she does, an unfamiliar sweetness imbuing her tongue.

“My mother’s recipe,” he acknowledges when she remarks of the fruit spread, and smiles gently. “I learned it when I was young, and part of every crop of fruit I grow is preserved. It helps keep her memory alive.”

Tina blinks while setting down her slice of bread. “Oh,” she says carefully. “Is she, um...”

“She died when I was on the continent, during the war.” He chews and swallows slowly, eyes going distant. “My father had gone the year before. War casualty. He was helping the Muggle soldiers on their front when he developed an infection in his lungs. By the time they were able to recognize and treat it, even magic couldn’t help.”

He clears his throat and sets his food aside, taking a careful sip of water. “My brother received the letter shortly after he’d arrived in Poland. I got mine while I was en-route to the Eastern front, off to serve in the Dragon Corps. We weren’t allowed to return to mother or to attend the funeral. She died less than a year later. The healers called it wasting, but Theseus and I—well. We know it was really a broken heart.”

Newt leans back in his chair and focuses on a point just to the left of her face, eyes hazy with memory. He eventually jerks himself back to the present, face flushing while he stares at the scarred surface of the table. “I'm sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t mean to leave you like that, Miss Goldstein. I’m afraid my head rather hurts again.”

“It’s okay,” she demurred. “I know what it’s like—to have no parents left, I mean.”

Newt nods. “I remember. Part of your long story. One I still hope you’ll tell me someday.” He meets her eyes and Tina is the first to look away.

“Maybe,” she says. Then: “That was pretty good wandless magic just now. Did you learn that during the war?”

Newt nods, eyes never leaving her face. “When we ventured out among the Muggle soldiers, we had to be discreet since our being there was technically illegal. I’ve always had an aptitude for wandless and nonverbal spells, but I sharpened it there.” He frowns, a furrow growing between his brows. “My wand has been...resistant since very early this morning. I believe I landed on it wrong when I was manhandled beneath the city. There’s no visible damage but I can think of no other reason for it to fight me.”

Tina moistens her lips thoughtfully. “Well. You got pretty banged up, I wouldn’t be surprised if your wand did too. Maybe when you get back to England, you can see your wand-maker and have them repair it.” A thought occurs. “Hey, Mr. Scamander? When _are_ you returning to England? Not that I’m in a hurry to see you gone. I’m just...curious.” Her cheeks heat up and Tina does her level best to ignore it.

Newt picks forlornly at a crust of bread. “I’d intended to head to Arizona, plans that are no longer feasible for obvious reasons. I’ll be boarding a steamer in five days. No hope for it, I can’t change my ticket for either the ship or the rails, and I cannot ensure that Frank arrives home safely.” He sighs deeply. “I have to trust his instincts to lead him true. In the meantime, I’m rather at a loose end.”

“Well,” Tina says quickly, “You can work on your book, right? The one that’s not an extermination guide?” She smiles gently. “And Queenie and I will be happy to entertain you when we can. We’ll even have you up for supper if you keep providing preserves.” She gives him a hopeful look. “You can keep your case here to bunk in, as long as you promise to stay in there at night.” Reality intrudes them, sharp and irrevocable. Her tone is regretful when she continues. “I still have to work, you know.”

Newt’s eyes harden momentarily before his expression turns placid. “Of course,” he says softly. He pushes his plate back and rises slowly, waving a hand to send their dishes to the sink and the remaining food to wrap itself neatly. He clutches the back of the chair until his knuckles are white, and Tina isn’t sure if he needs the support, or if it’s for an altogether different reason when he looks into her face with a cautiously hopeful expression.

“Miss Goldstein,” he begins, “I’m afraid my creatures will be rather put out with me, with my neglecting to feed them both last night and this morning. I don’t know if I can make it down the ladder to my case without falling and killing myself, and I know I haven’t the energy to make my full rounds without some assistance.” He glances out the window, at the sun still an hour or two from setting, and plows on. “Would you...that is to say, if you’re _amenable_ , I’d quite like some help down there. Nothing intensive, I assure you. Just to make sure I don’t injure myself further, and to allow me to take a few healing potions.”

Tina eyes him carefully, inwardly delighted by the invitation but keeping her expression neutral. She allows him to squirm for a moment before breaking into a sunny grin. “I’d love to, Mr. Scamander,” she says happily, and he seems unexpectedly flummoxed by her answer. Then, ever the gentleman, he leads her to the case and allows her to precede him down.

*

Tina steadies him as they descend the steps, his calloused palm clutched firmly in hers. She pretends not to feel the tingle that sinks into her skin when Newt presses their hands together, and judging by the shiver that takes him, he notices it too. His hands are incredibly steady and surprisingly strong, his long, slender fingers dotted with callouses. She allows the embrace to linger for a moment longer than is strictly necessary, ensuring he has his feet beneath him before letting go. He sounds a little breathless when he speaks.

“Thank you, Miss Goldstein,” he murmurs while inclining his head, and his words from the tunnel come back to her: _I liked it better when you called me Newt_.

“Call me Tina,” she blurts. “Please. We’re friends now, aren’t we...Newt?”

Newt stares. “Yes,” he eventually murmurs. “I suppose we are. Well then, Tina.” He gestures around the shed, where she’s been three times now, but still finds endlessly fascinating. “I have to go through my potions stores to find what I need. Please do sit down.” He gestures to a worn but comfortable-looking armchair, and Tina plops herself down unceremoniously. The photograph of the woman, she notes, has disappeared, and she tries not to read too much into it.

Newt rummages around his counter and lays out a few medicinal tablets before pulling down a locked box. He fishes a key out of his trouser pocket to open it, revealing an array of jewel-toned, iridescent potions. Tina, fascinated, rises from her seat to get a closer look. “What are those?” she asks, and he turns his head to look at her. From this close, she can see the flecks of gold around his irises, and count his fair eyelashes. She swallows, and his eyes drop to her lips for the barest moment before meeting hers again.

“A few, mostly experimental potions I helped devise with a Potions Master in England,” he explains. He holds up a vial, the brew glowing deeply purple with an iridescent gold sheen. “This, we’re calling _Mundo Mala_ Draught. It’s only a working name, but it features a fascinating plant I discovered in Scandinavia. It treats infections, you see. One dose of this, and anything infectious will be treated. _Anything_. I’ve used it on myself a few times, and so far it’s been entirely successful.”

Tina nods. “Did you get the idea for this after your father...?”

Newt carefully sets the vial back into the velvet-lined case. “Yes,” he says with a shaky exhale and braves a small smile. “With luck, we’ll be able to refine it and send it out for future combat engagements. War is coming to the magical world, in Europe at least, and spells aren’t always logical—or effective.” She hears him swallow. “We intend to mass produce this when I return home, as its efficacy and shelf-stability have already been ensured.”

She smiles weakly and points to another potion. “And that? What’s that one do?” The fluid in the vial is white with an opalescent glow and swirls slightly where it’s contained. Newt looks, and she watches as a flush works out of his starched collar to climb over his cheeks and forehead. Even his ears turn pink.

“Um.” He ducks his head and turns away. “That’s _Virilis Actocium_ ,” he mumbles to the floor. Tina arches an eyebrow, the name ringing some very far off bells. Newt curls his fingers to nervously pick his cuticles while looking at her fleetingly. “It’s a potion that’s calibrated to a specific man for, er...well.” A shaky inhale, and he meets her eyes. “I get lonely, Tina.”

Tina feels her eyebrows crawl into her hairline. She takes a moment to process this idea before narrowing her eyes at him. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a whore-monger, Mr. Scamander,” she rejoins bitingly, inexplicably dismayed by his confession. He winces while turning away from her, and she grimly shoves aside a fissure of guilt when his shoulders slump. _I thought you were better than that_ , she thinks despairingly.

“I’m not, really,” he finally murmurs. He turns his head to watch her in profile. His hands curl into fists before relaxing, and he closes his eyes when he speaks. “Try to understand, Miss Goldstein: I spend months at a stretch _entirely alone_. When I return to civilization, after I’ve remembered how to interact with humans, I often find that I need to encounter one on a more basic level. It is a physical necessity.”

She glares but he doesn’t see it. He continues on, almost speaking to himself. “My last dalliance was with a respectable woman, a young widow who was nearly as lonely as I; I warmed her bed on and off for a week, Tina, and no money crossed her palm—or mine.” He clears his throat roughly.

“How long has it been since then?” she asks brusquely, and he flinches before answering.

“Many months,” Newt finally grates out. Tina crosses her arms over her chest defensively, rubbing her elbow through the thin material of her blouse.

“Was that part of the plan while in America, then? Sample the flavor of the local women?” She’s sneering, voice infused with disdain but she cannot seem to _help_ it. Newt recoils as if struck and whirls with a raw expression. Something deep inside her moans despairingly at the sight.

“ _No!_ ” he insists. His hands clench at his side, and she watches sadness war with regret in his expression, before giving way to...something else. Something she wishes she could recognize. “That was _never_ my intention, Miss Goldstein.”

Tina snorts in derision, unwilling to consider the potential _truth_ in what he’s saying. He watches her through narrowed eyes before boldly taking a step forward, putting him close enough that she can see the individual bristles covering his chin and jaw and the smattering of freckles across his nose. He slides his hands into his pockets and tries very hard to act casual. The tremble in his voice betrays his nerves, however.

“You misunderstand me, I think,” he begins softly. She can see he’s making the effort to be calm, yet she makes no move to appear receptive. “I have only rarely _bought_ a woman. And only then when necessity absolutely dictated it.”

She scoffs, and he holds up a slim hand and sets his jaw before going on. “I have always sought willing partners who came to me as _equals_. From my first encounter to my last, _that_ has been my norm. I have only treated a woman as a...transaction, for want of a better term, when I had _no other option_. In those rare instances, I went to reputable establishments and made certain to give the women their fair share of pay. I was never cruel to them, and I did my best to...limit any discomfort they may experience.” He swallows. “I’m aware that this doesn’t justify the behavior, and I’m aware this does not cast me in the best light, but I’m hoping you can understand the necessity that inspired it.”

Tina throws her hands into the air, eyeing the ceiling as she groans her disbelief. “You really don’t get it,” she finally manages. Newt shifts from foot to foot and seems to draw into himself, preparing for either battle or retreat. “Look at who you’re _talking to_ ,” she goes on before he can speak. “If you can’t see why I’m bothered by this, then I don’t know how to make you understand.”

“I _can_ see why,” he responds softly. He takes another cautious step closer and now Tina can feel his breath washing gently over her skin. “You think I’m either a philanderer or that I intend to proposition you—and I assure you, I am and will do neither of these things. You don’t have to take my word for it, but consider this: have I done anything untoward to you, aside from my sleep-addled and admittedly inappropriate comment of earlier?” He pauses to give her a chance to answer before going on. “Have I given you any reason to believe that I consider you, or any woman, somehow second-class to me?”

Tina exhales slowly through her nose while considering his words. She realizes with no small amount of disgust, that truthfully—he _hadn’t_ done or said anything to make her feel _less_ , or even less than desirable. And, even if she’s only just willing to admit it to herself, she thinks that perhaps he feels something for her besides the base need he’d mentioned earlier. The way he looks at her, the way he regards her—not the actions of a man intent only on getting between a convenient and cheap set of thighs.

Tina weights these revelations, allowing him this one small victory. Still, the conundrum of his behavior fits within no previous paradigm and so she does what she knows: she locks down on her emotions and flees, as quickly and gracefully as possible.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll give you this one, Mr. Scamander. Maybe I _did_ overreact. But you said yourself that you understand why. I can’t...how do I _know_ , Newt? How do I know that you were good to those women? I have no way of knowing, and I...” She shrugs, unwilling to let it _go_ but grasping at straws. “How can I tell that you weren’t cruel or, or—that your experiences in the war haven’t made you that way? A lot of the men—”

“No.” His voice is little more than a brittle whisper, but it slices through her babbling like a well-honed blade. Tina jerks her eyes up to his, and in them, she sees that same, quiet fury she had witnessed in Gnarlak’s brothel beneath the city. Her knees shake in subconscious reaction until she pressed her hand against the wall to steady herself.

“You know that isn’t the case, Tina. You _know_ that.” He tilts his head to glare at her from beneath his fringe, eyes never leaving hers. “You wish to ask about my experiences during the war? That’s entirely fair, but you _do not_ have the right to use them against me without knowing what they are. My time there was _mine alone_ , and while I’ll admit it changed me, most would say it was for the better.” He’s breathing hard and she can feel it washing over her in bursts. “Your secrets are yours to keep, you’ve made that perfectly clear—and so are mine.”

He turns away from her, hands fumbling something on his bench to keep them occupied. “You should go,” he says in a low voice. The dismissal is clear, and it stings but she refuses to show it. “We’ve abused each other quite enough for this evening. Besides, it should be dark by now.” He sighs and stares at the wall. “Come morning, I shall take my case and leave since my remaining here will be uncomfortable for us both. Do try to have a good night at work, Miss Goldstein.”

Tina snorts in furious disbelief. “What, that—that’s it? We have a little quarrel and you just...leave? Don’t even try to justify it?”

“I have _not_ tried to justify it because you aren’t interested in what I have to say on the matter. You’ve already made up your mind.” Newt replies levelly. “ I have _explained_ it as best I can, but I cannot expect you to understand if you choose not to—and I refuse to argue with you about things that are part of the past. And so, I will leave in the morning since my being here is prohibited _anyways_ , and I shall return to England in less than a week's time, and you may continue your life undisturbed.” He sniffs. “I believe it’s for the best, really.”

Tina scoffs to mask her sudden, crushing hurt and blindly turns towards the stairs. “That’s fine, then,” she growls. “That’s just fine. I’m going to work now, Mr. Scamander. _Do_ try and have a good night, yourself.” She hesitates before plunging snidely on, knowing it’s a low hit—but raw and angry and wanting to see him _hurt_ , too. “And please feel free to leave at your earliest convenience. It’s safe to say that you won’t be missed here.”

Tina’s voice does not crack or waver, and she refuses to turn to see his reaction. Instead, she takes the narrow stairs at a trot and slams the lid of the case behind her. A small, petty part of her wants to take the thing and toss it out the window, to allow it to land where it will and damn the consequences. A much larger, much more _steady_ part of her wants to curl up into a ball and sob. _That was wrong, what you said,_ her conscience whispers until she snarls at it internally.

“He deserved everything he got, and more,” she seethes, blithely ignoring the knowledge that she’s deceiving herself. She resolutely puts her back to the suitcase and shuts off her mind, fetching her work clothes before none-too-gently locking the door behind her.

*


	14. Chapter Fourteen

*

Tina experiences a wretched night at work, an occurrence made worse by her own whiplash emotions. The temperature drops after dark so that the rain from earlier freezes into treacherous ice, and she can smell snow in the air when she breathes deeply. Worse, she’s _distracted_ —recollections of their earlier disagreement swirling around her head, interspersed with pleasant memories of Newt and worries for her sister, and all serving to dull her senses. She miserably draws her sheer shawl tighter around her shoulders as she picks her careful way to the shipyard.

The cold eventually cuts through the static of her thoughts. She realizes, as she does her best to hook her first customer, that she _was_ harsh, and that perhaps she had been unnecessarily cruel to him. _He will be missed_ , she finally admits to herself when a thick man grunts and leads her away. _I don’t want him to go because he brings something into my life. Something I didn’t know I needed until now._

Her first client is easily served, and she does her best to clear her mind while performing her job. They leave her apartment together, and she even has time to clean and re-insert her pessary before finding another client. Tina picks up a third and is getting ready to close up for the night when her fourth customer comes along.

She knows from the start it’ll be a bad experience, but it’s been slow and she _needs_ the money—especially after missing work the previous evening. She takes him home, and she endures the pain he inflicts without a sound, retreating deep inside her mind to separate her awareness from her body.

He leaves and she stays, fingering the bruises flowering over her cracked cheek and around her eyes, the splits on her bottom lip. Numbly, Tina creeps to the basin to clean herself, carefully scrubbing every inch of skin until she can no longer feel his hands on her. Their small chest of medical supplies is in the bedroom so that’s where she heads, intent on changing out of her whore’s clothes and healing the injuries before her sister or Newt can see them. A plan which grinds to a halt when she finds Newt in the middle of the room, crouching over his case as he seals the lid.

“Not to worry,” he says without lifting his eyes. “I’ll be leaving as soon as the sun is up. I just wanted to check...well. It doesn’t matter.”

Tina pulls open the battered wardrobe, casually dropping her revealing garments to pull on a dowdy cotton nightgown. She watches from the corner of her eye as his shoulders go tense, and finds she’s too tired to be annoyed or endeared by this.

“It’s...fine,” she finally settles on while tying the laces at her throat. “You can stay. I didn’t mean to use that against you. I was angry.” Her intonation is mushy and talking hurts her lip, so she stops with a barely-contained wince. Newt sighs heavily, his hand curling into a frustrated fist on the lid of his case.

“That’s twice in as many days that you’ve thrown me out, Tina. I should think that you very much meant to do it.” He rolls smoothly to his feet, much of the stiffness and dizziness obviously having worked out of his body. Tina bends to pull on heavy wool socks and he finally turns to face her, profile colored starkly by the light from outside the window.

“You want me gone and I shall oblige. You should know, however, that I—” He cuts himself off abruptly, mouth falling open as he really _sees_ her for the first time since she entered the room. Newt gestures toward her face as his brow furrows. “Tina,” he asks slowly, “What happened? You’re hurt. Did one of your—did a man do that to you?”

Tina smiles painfully while popping her jaw. “Yeah,” she answers honestly. “He was upset about his girl. I don’t know who she is, but I hope like hell that she’s not part of his life anymore. He was _angry_ , and I was a cheap and convenient target.” She gingerly pats her cheek. “At least he paid me. Most of the time, they don’t. I was just coming in here to change and get some supplies to patch myself up before tomorrow night.”

Newt nods while dragging a finger down the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. “Come down into my case,” he offers finally. She blinks at him in confusion and he rocks on his heels before going on. “I have high-quality supplies down there. Bruise salve, Essence of Dittany, and the like. Injuries are rather an occupational hazard, I’m afraid, so I always have a well-stocked medical kit.” He clears his throat. “I will do my best to refrain from arguing with you, as well.”

Tina wants to smile at the feeble joke, but her lip is starting to swell and she knows it’ll come across as a grimace. She runs her tongue over her teeth in thought, only to taste blood—and that decides her. She follows him into the suitcase and allows him to help her down the last step, her hand lingering in his for a charged moment.

_He really is different from most other men_ , she admits, if only to herself, and feels the shadows of the evening begin to draw away from her.

*

Newt dabs at her mouth with a clean white cloth before applying a poultice, something that smells and tastes strongly of mint. He applies an Arnica salve to her bruised cheek, and she winces at the freezing tingle it produces before going numb. “So sorry,” he murmurs around a faint smile, “but that means it’s working.”

Tina rolls her eyes in good-nature when he asks her to open her mouth. She does, and he performs a cursory examination before pointing his fingers. “This...may hurt,” is the only warning she gets before he murmurs a spell and she feels and _hears_ a crack. Pain lances through her head, making her yelp before it’s gone, as quickly as it had come. Then he’s pushing a small glass vial of something into her hands, and sternly telling her to drink it all.

It tastes putrid, and he chuckles slightly when she wrinkles her nose. “Unpleasant, but highly effective. That tooth would have gone to rot, had I not repaired it. I just saved you a trip to the dentist, Miss Goldstein.”

“Just call me Tina,” she says tiredly, and he inclines his head in acknowledgment before staring at her. He appears indecisive, worrying his thumb against his fingernail before turning to the potions chest that had caused so much discord. She watches as he skips over the _Virilis Actocium_ to withdraw two vials of the _Mundo Mala_ Drought, uncorking them both and passing one to her.

“A man willing to hurt a woman,” he says without preamble, “is not worthy of time or worry. I’d feel better if you’d take this, just to set my own mind at ease. I realize I hadn’t taken my intended dose earlier—I was distracted by a rather argumentative witch, you see. So I propose that we take it together.”

Tina hesitates. “What are you thinking, Newt? Why do I need this?”

He stalls before answering. She can see him making the effort to be open with her, and she appreciates the thought, if not the man making it. “I wonder if perhaps he was ill and if it is something you could, eventually, also be affected by. I only wish to use this as a preventive measure. Nothing else.” A beat. “Please, Tina.”

Tina has an epiphany. “You’re thinking syphilis,” she says on a shaky exhale, and he nods hesitantly. “Do you see a lot of that, in your travels?” Something occurs to her then. “Have you contracted it yourself? Is that why you wanted to create this brew?”

Newt holds up a hand to stem her flow of words. “Yes, that is what I’m thinking, and no, you’d be surprised how little of it I’ve seen since I embarked upon my year in the field.” He tosses the contents of the small vial back without hesitation. Tina watches his throat work, fascinated, and drops her eyes before he can catch her observing him. “I did see it during the war though, and no, I’ve never, er, contracted it myself. At least, I don’t believe I have; if I did, this would have taken care of it for me.”

“Will it work very quickly?” she asks with unfeigned curiosity, and he nods.

“It’s powerful magic,” he says simply, and Tina needs no further convincing. Eyes never leaving his face, she swallows the potion, finding it pleasantly sweet with only the barest bitter undertone. He sighs in obvious relief when she’s done, and withdraws another vial of the drought to pass to her. “Hang on to this,” Newt intones softly. “Should you ever find yourself ill or in need, it will save you a trip to the apothecary.”

Tina reaches out to take it and allows her fingers to linger on his. He looks at where they are joined before raising his eyes to her, his level gaze questioning and hopeful. “You could just say that you’re sorry,” she says in a shaky whisper, “but I think I like this way better. Thank you, Newt.”

He drops his eyes to their hands and, boldly, runs the calloused pad of his thumb against her knuckles. He hypnotically sweeps small crescents over her skin as Tina relaxes in increments. “I am sorry,” he whispers. “I should have known better than to be so casual about...what I’ve done, around you. Tina, please try to understand that I have as much respect for those women as I have for...for you, as I _had_ for my mother. Who they _are_ and what they _do_ are entirely separate things, to my mind.”

He searches her face for a reaction before going on, thumb never ceasing its gentle rubbing. “Many of those women are respected in their countries. They are seen as partners and confidants. They don’t come cheaply, they receive regular medical care, and abuse of any sort is absolutely not tolerated. I did not want to believe that it was much different here. I realize now that I was mistaken, and I am sorry.”

Newt makes as if to remove his hand. Tina, feeling entirely sure for the first time in days, curls her fingers around his in a proper embrace. His eyes widen until he shifts closer, the slide of his feet very loud in the poignant silence of the little shed. He looks at where they are joined before bringing his curious eyes back to her face.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tina says quietly. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and I shouldn’t have gotten angry. It’s been a very... _tiring_ few days, and I’m exhausted. It’s making it so that I’m not thinking very clearly.” She bows her head. “You don’t have to leave, either, and I promise to stop threatening you with it.” She can’t resist teasing, just a little. “I imagine that your _legions_ of women across Europe must cost you a small fortune; I wouldn’t want to cause you financial distress while you’re here by forcing you to let a room.”

He huffs a small laugh. “It’s nothing like that,” he demurrers softly. “But you’re right, it would be prudent to reserve my funds. What little wealth I have is currently in the form of Occamy eggshells, and I’m careful to use those only when absolutely necessary. It’s a humble thing, this life I lead.” He moves fractionally closer and Tina squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“You’re leaving in four days?” she murmurs after some quick math, and he nods. “Then you really _should_ stay. It would make Queenie happy...and I’d be happy too.”

His eyebrows rise into his hair as his face flushes, but he nods and adjusts their clasped hands to rub his thumb against the back of her wrist. Tina sighs happily. “That’s better,” she whispers. “I could still feel him. I think  _that’s_ the hardest part of this job: feeling when I don’t _want_ to feel.”

“I can believe that,” Newt responds, equally quiet. He waves his free hand, and his kettle sets itself up to boil while a bundle of arcane leaves deposits themselves into a small teapot. Chipped cups line up like obedient soldiers, and the brew pours itself when it’s steeped only to float over to them. His other hand, she’s happy to note, never leaves hers.

The first sip is pure bliss, and she closes her eyes as warmth curls through her, seeping down to the very tips of her toes. “That’s good,” she sighs appreciatively. He nods while motioning for her to take the worn armchair before perching beside it. His arm tensed and she braces for the loss of his comforting grip until he shifts and grasps her even more firmly, threading their fingers to press their palms together.

“Yes, it is,” he says around his own teacup. “I was introduced to this in the far north of Russia, almost into Siberia. The locals drink it regularly to help regulate their moods during the long, dark winter months.” He smiles gently at her from over his rim. “I grow my own now, and drink it whenever I’m feeling particularly blue.” He purses his lips to blow over the hot beverage, and Tina stares at them with avid fascination until he sips. She looks away, flushing, but the silence remains comfortable.

“Well,” she says after they’ve finished. “I should, uh, head up. To bed. Go to bed, I mean. It’ll be morning soon, and I have to go to the market and a few other small errands to run. I should be rested for that.”

“Of course, of course,” Newt says hastily. He scrambles to stand with her and then looks down at their joined hands. She clears her throat, and he releases her haltingly. Her sense of loss is palpable, and her palm tingles as a shiver rippled across her skin. She swallows it while Newt stares blankly at his fingers. “Merlin’s beard,” he breathes.

His green eyes seek and find her face, only to drop to her lips—and linger there. She stares back and the moment stretches languidly between them, Tina using his distraction to study him just as openly. His eyes flick to hers, only to return to her mouth. Up, then down, and Tina feels the back of her neck heat up. He swallows loudly while taking a step closer, causing an electric thrill to run through her.

“Tina,” he whispers. He pauses to lick his lips before going on, and she watches his mouth with fascination. “Tina, would I be overstepping my boundaries if I—that is, may I—I would like to kiss you.” He takes a tentative step closer, his hand once more reaching for hers while amber eyes plead into her own. “Would that be permissible?”

Part of Tina wishes, strongly, to run. To flee up the stairs and slam the lid of the case behind her. To lock it until morning and pretend desperately that this exchange never happened. Another part of her wants to sway towards him, to feel the heat of his body against her front and discover what a man like Newt Scamander _tastes_ like.

“I don’t know how to, ” she blurts instead. His breath catches, expressive eyes going wide. “I’ve never done that before.” Panic flares to life in her chest and she fumbles backward when his hand falls, his eyes moving to focus besides her. “Even in school, even when I—” She stops abruptly and clamors up the stairs, eyes never leaving his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry,” she breathes and makes good her escape, the lid of the case slamming resolutely between them.

*


	15. Chapter Fifteen

*

Tina paces the length of her bedroom, agitated and deeply confused. _Where is Queenie when I need her_? she thinks, only to remember her sister’s glowing happiness at having found a suitable mate before sighing tiredly. She puts her head in her hands to turn blindly on her heel, jaw locked against a small sob.

There’s something _new_ inside her, something that wasn’t there before. Some profound understanding that he put there. A frustrating awareness of Newt as both a person and a _man_ , and a warmth that fills her chest whenever she thinks of him. It’s novel and alien and _terrifying_ —and now he’s asked to kiss her. Spoken to her as an equal, and asked her permission for something she doesn’t feel equipped to give.

She hadn’t been lying when she said she had no experience. For all the things she’d been required to do to _live_ , that was one area where she was still entirely virginal.

Tina turns abruptly, intent on facing these irrational fears head-on, only to stub her toe on the heavy frame of the bed. She yelps and releases a blistering string of curses, hopping on one foot to yank off her sock while sinking onto the thin, lumpy mattress. Tears blur her vision as she cradles her injured foot until she swipes them away viciously, swallowing down regret and displeasure and everything else choking her until she’s attained some semblance of calm and her whirling thoughts have settled.

It’s only been twenty minutes, according to the clock, and she doesn’t believe he’s already asleep. Still, she opens the lid of the case quietly and is stealthy as she climbs down the steps. He’s not in his shed, which momentarily surprises her. Tina glances around to see that their tea things have been cleaned up and the bench set mostly back to rights, before easing open the door and stepping into his private world.

She finds Newt over by where Frank used to live, sprawled in a hammock. He has one stockinged foot planted in the desert hardpan to rock himself gently. The other foot and the rest of him are tucked neatly beneath a ragged blanket. His face is angled toward the false stars winking above, and Tina is so charmed by the entire sight that it takes a while for her to realize that his cheeks are suspiciously shiny.

She debates leaving him to weep in peace until he turns his head. “You came back,” Newt says softly. He digs his foot in to stop his swaying before looking at her. He makes no attempt to hide or wipe away his tears, and Tina tangles her fingers nervously in her nightgown while moving closer.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally manages. She releases the fabric to smooth out the wrinkles, tracing the outline of her bare feet against the red dust with her eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, and I shouldn’t have run.” She pauses and takes a quick breath. “You caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Newt turns his face back toward the stars, and Tina screws up her courage. “Can I please come sit with you, Newt?”

He nods slowly and she pads closer. There’s nowhere to sit beside the obvious but she’s still unsure, so she hovers uncertainly until he hitches a deep breath and scoots over, allowing her to perch precariously on the unsteady edge of the hammock. Tina holds onto the rough woven sling for balance, and Newt shifts so that his toes dig in the dirt and prevents them from toppling over.

“I’m not upset because of you,” he says eventually. He keeps his face pointed toward the sky, eyes tracing the brief flare of a faux-meteorite. “I miss Frank and I’m sad that I didn’t get to bring him to Arizona personally, but I’m glad he’s free. I know he’ll make it home just fine.” He pauses to swallow wetly. “Truthfully, I’m also feeling rather like a prat for what I asked you. I’m sorry, Tina. I realize that I overstepped my boundaries, something I said I would never do. You should know that it was never my intention to drive you away.”

Tina fingers the hem of the blanket. It’s striped like his pajamas, and she smiles a little at that. “It’s really okay,” she murmurs reassuringly. She looks up to catch his eye and he watches her hopefully. “You just surprised me, like I said.” Her smile becomes a shy grin. “Nobody’s ever asked to kiss me before, you know.”

“Well. It’s not good to just take things without permission,” he sniffs, and her smile slips a little.

“No, Newt,” she murmurs. “I meant what I said: no one’s ever...I really have never done it before. I wasn’t being difficult.” Newt blinks at her, and she goes on. “I’ve done almost everything _except_ that. I guess you could say that I’ve done the whole...the physical stuff backward.”

Newt tilts his head curiously. “You implied, back at the Blind Pig, that you had some practical experience in these matters before you fell into this lifestyle. Surely you’ve, ah—surely there was some intimacy involved in that, wasn’t there?” He falters when she doesn’t respond. “Wasn’t there?” he repeats in a small voice, and Tina sighs and looks away.

“Not really.” He tenses and she hurries on. “I mean, it was the middle of my seventh year at school. He was a seventh-year student too, from a different house—I was Thunderbird, he was Horned Serpent. I told you my parents died when we were young, right? Well, they didn’t have much to leave us, and what they _did_ leave was gone pretty quickly. So Queenie and I were scholarship students. Second-hand robes, second-hand books. _Charity_ kids, and we were reminded of it often. We weren’t treated very well.”

She draws a deep, shaky breath and Newt shifts a little closer to press his hand against hers through the blanket. She notices only peripherally, lost in pained recollection. “His name was Anthony. He came from a good family, an _old_ family. He started flirting with me in our sixth year but I turned him down because I wanted to focus on my studies. By seventh year, I was well ahead of my class. So I let him court me. He was charming, in his own way. Impatient sometimes, but I didn’t know any better. I thought it was normal.”

She cuts her eyes to the side, finding him intensely focused on her. He squeezes her fingers reassuringly until she smiles weakly. “One day, we both had a free period so we went to an empty classroom to study. We ended up studying each other, to be vulgar. It was quick, and not very good. It _hurt_ a lot more than I knew it should have. Then it was over, and he acted like nothing happened. He stopped courting me a little while after that.” Tina exhales sharply. “I was expelled a few months later.”

She hears the click when he swallows and looks up to find renewed moisture on his cheeks. His other hand covers where they are joined, and now she looks down to marvel at the contact. “That was very cruel of him,” Newt husks out. “But Tina, tell me—why were you expelled?” She ducks her head, and he follows in an attempt to catch her eye. “Was it...did it have something to do with what you two did in that classroom?” She swallows hard. “Perhaps a certain biological consequence?”

Tears fill her eyes, sudden and burning, and she manages only a trembling nod. Her throat locks against a sob, and she reaches up to wipe her eyes when arms slender enough to belie their wiry strength wrap around her without hesitation. He pulls her close until she’s resting halfway between his chest and stomach, his arms draped around her shoulders as he strokes her hair.

“Is this...alright?” he whispers, and she nods with a sniffle. There’s a rustle of fabric and then a corner of the blanket is wiping at her face, gently mopping up her grief. She manages a watery smile and his eyes take her in before catching one last errant tear. His hand returns to her shoulder when she sighs and slumps into him, suddenly wrung out and exhausted.

“You’re not wrong,” she says finally. “That’s why I got kicked out. I brought shame to the school. He, of course, didn’t have to worry about it.” She can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I only had a few months to go when I returned to New York, so I did what I could to survive. For both of us. I joined a charity hospital and spent my day handing out leaflets. This was right before Prohibition began, and the hospital I belonged to was in favor of it. The pamphlets were awful, but what choice did I have? I had to do it, for me and...for me and my baby.”

Tina swallows painfully. Newt’s hand rises to push a strand of hair behind her ear, and she glances at him in vague thanks before continuing. “I had him, finally. It was November but terribly cold. They said the bread froze on the breadlines that day.” A choked breath, rife with pain. “A midwife came, then a doctor. I don’t remember much, but I remember the pain. That, I’ll never forget. He was born and I only got to hold him for a minute, then they were busy with me. I almost died, I lost so much blood. They said I didn’t shrink properly, whatever that means. And I tore, I remember that. They had to set stitches.” She pauses for effect. “This was a No-Maj hospital.”

Tina closes her eyes against the flood of memory while Newt tightens his hold on her, making a gentle shushing sound when she curls and presses her face into his stomach. “We developed fevers,” she finally goes on. “I was delirious and sick for days. I eventually got better, but he...” She chokes and can’t go on. Newt fans his fingers over her shoulder blades and pressed, very gently—simultaneously calming her and reminding her that she isn’t alone in this burden.

“What was his name?” He asks hoarsely after her tears have run their course, and she sniffles and clears her throat.

“Daniel,” she manages finally. “I called him Daniel, and he was _perfect_ Newt.” Newt shifts restlessly and suddenly she’s being pulled into his chest. He lays his cheek on the crown of her head while she closes her eyes, soaking in his comforting warmth. His hand smooths her hair while the other clenches rhythmically into her nightgown, and she can feel _his_ tears seeping through to her skin.

They remain like that until their tears have passed and Tina’s eyelids, gritty with emotion, begin to droop. She considers leaving—dragging herself up the stairs and falling into her own unsatisfactory bed, to sleep restlessly before facing the monotonous day. The thought brings no pleasure.

Besides her, Newt displays a startling amount of prescience and moves to allow her to climb further into the hammock. She doesn’t hesitate before laying beside him. He tenses while gently tucking the blanket around her before slowly relaxing against her side. “This isn’t exactly appropriate,” he whispers, and Tina rolls closer to him with a murmur.

“You’re right,” she agrees and closes her eyes.

The bedclothes whisper, and she could swear he drops a kiss into her hair. She chooses to ignore it. “As long as you don’t mind—”

“I don’t.”

He finally calms, his exhale long and shaky as his limbs go slack. “That’s good, then,” he mumbles. “Sleep well, Tina.”

His breath stirs the hair on the nape of her neck, his tentative arm soothing where it’s wrapped around her. She curls against him until he is entirely loose, breathing in long, slow pulls when sleep takes him.

Tina lays awake a while longer, soaking in his warmth and the comfort of his presence, and wondering how she came to be here.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that this chapter being posted on American Mother's Day is...poor timing. All I can say is that I am _sorry_ for that, and if I'd realized it sooner I would have made other arrangements. My deepest apologies to anyone whom I bothered or disturbed with the timing of this segment. :(
> 
> That said: who figured out the particulars of this chapter using the clues I'd scattered about previously? I'm sure one or two of you had a hunch! I should mention that the inclusion of Daniel is a complete fabrication on my part, born of a head-canon of sorts and spawned from a discussion with one of my beta readers. I always wondered why Tina reacted so _profoundly_ to Credence in the movie, and this is one idea we shared between us to explain it. Using him in _this_ worked to help orchestrate Tina's fall from grace, at it were.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

*

Tina awakens to an unaccustomed warmth and the vague sense that something is...different.

She opens her eyes to a harshly beautiful desert sunrise, the view broken only by the cacti and large boulders scattered throughout. It takes her a moment before she remembers: coming down into the case, tea with Newt, and easy conversation. His unexpected request, and her hasty exit before returning to apologize—only to unload the details of her sordid past onto him. His quiet acceptance and tears shared before crawling into his hammock like a wanton hussy, to sleep soundly in his arms.

Tina cranes her head to look at him. He’s still sleeping, to all appearances, but his breathing gives him away—it’s too shallow, and there’s a nervous tremor on the exhale. She swallows hard while considering her options.

Newt saves her from prolonged torture by blinking his eyes open. He braves a tremulous smile before turning onto his side to face her. He reaches to claim her hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and threads their fingers together. She squeezes where they are connected, and his tenuous smile blossoms into a true grin.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, and sleep has robbed his voice of its typical silk, turning it into something deep and languid. Tina gulps as warmth flows from somewhere in her chest to seep into her limbs. He squeezes her hand once before letting go, casually rolling onto his back to stare at the enchanted sky.

“This is my favorite place to sleep,” he says musingly while folding his hands beneath his head. “It’s a blessing to close my eyes beneath the stars and have the sunrise wake me precisely when I need to be up and doing my morning rounds.” He breathes deeply of the still air. “Speaking of, I should get started on those.”

He stretches languorously, all long limbs and hard lines, and Tina tries her hardest not to stare openly. The small smirk playing around his mouth tells her she does a poor job of it. She drops her eyes as her ears heat up until slender fingers tuck beneath her chin and press gently. She keeps her face averted for a stubborn moment before relenting.

Newt’s eyes are somber when she finally risks meeting them. “I’m sorry,” he says gently. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” He takes a measured breath and lets it out slowly while allowing his hand to fall, his eyes never straying from her face.

Tina blinks. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she says. “Only, I thought...” she trails off, and he tilts his head in obvious confusion. She fingers the blanket nervously when his brow furrows. Then the deep lines smooth out and he grins, boyish and bright. “We’re even, then,” Newt declares. “I made you uncomfortable last night, so I’ll _pretend_ , for your sake, to be made uncomfortable by your perusal this morning. Does that seem fair?” He levels his eyebrows at her playfully. Tina gapes.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable last night!” she exclaims, and the smile slips from his face completely. Tina’s brain catches up with her mouth and she winces before squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I didn’t—what I mean is, I—”

Newt’s hand circles her’s to soothe her restless fingers before shifting to rub the inside of her wrist. “We have to stop doing this,” he whispers. She narrows her eyes in confusion and he nods. “We keep... _missing_ each other, somehow.” He shrugs nervously. “I say something, and it comes out wrong. You say something, and I misinterpret it.” A beat. “Did you think I was propositioning you last night? When I asked if I could kiss you?”

Tina shakes her head. “No, Newt. I knew you weren’t. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have a certain amount of experience with women like me. Surely you know that kissing is off-limits.” She allows him to stroke her skin until she finds the courage to meet his eyes, gnawing her lip as he considers her words.

“In that case,” Newt says slowly, “I am sorry for...well, I guess I am sorry for the confusion.” He blinks while dipping his chin, looking up at her furtively from beneath his brows. “Er—Tina? If things were...if things were _different_ for you, would you have still said no? To what I asked, I mean.”

Tina doesn’t need to think about the answer. It’s only been singing through her veins since two nights ago when she’d first noticed him as someone _apart_. “No,” she breathes, and her hand rises of its own volition to press trembling fingers into his cheek. His eyes cut over to watch her until he sighs and leans into the contact, his scarred paw covering hers to hold it in place. He closes his eyes while speaking, his voice raw.

“Then the offer remains,” he says hoarsely. “Should you ever want to try that, come find me.” His eyes open to land on her and Tina’s lungs seize. “I’d like very much to kiss you someday, Tina. I’m willing to wait for you to be ready for it.”

Tina flails, just a little. “I can’t take a _lover_ , Newt, and I can’t get involved with a man. You _know_ this.”

“I know no such thing,” he says resolutely, and Tina’s mouth falls open in disbelief. Newt rolls onto his knees, the hammock wobbling threateningly when he leans close to her. He frees her trapped hand and it falls aimlessly before landing on his thigh. They both stare down at it through wide eyes until he focuses on her face.

“Merlin’s beard, Tina. Have you _no idea_ what you do to me?” Tina exhales her shock while hastily reclaiming her hand. Newt makes a pained sound before leaning away, his face shuttering and closing off. He swallows through a suddenly tight jaw, his body tense beneath his pajamas even as his eyes grow suspiciously shiny. “Right, then,” he asserts in a clipped tone and begins to move away.

She watches him despairingly, feeling the nameless _something_ between them, their easy understanding and companionship, small and tentative but with huge _potential_ , wither. In that moment, as Newt prepares to leave, the wall shielding her heart cracks to admit the smallest fissure of light—ushered in on a whirlwind of golden eyes and ruddy hair and infinitely gentle hands. _Don’t let this go,_ she tells herself dazedly.

Tina, for only the second time in her life, throws her common-sense to the wind. She uncoils and embraces him in one smooth movement, her fingers threading through the fastenings at the front of his pajamas when she tugs him close. Shocked green eyes take the measure of her as the tension between them builds and they share heaving breaths, their eyes locked for the space of two heartbeats...until Tina leans forward and presses their lips together without fanfare.

*

She doesn’t see what the fuss is about, at first. She kisses him, and Newt _freezes_. She can feel his slightly chapped lips trembling against hers while the rest of him goes unnaturally still. She moves her lips against his blindly, _desperately_ , and their noses bump together as his stubble scratches unpleasantly when he remains stiff and unyielding.

Then his trembling hands rise to frame her face while he sways _into_ her, his lips parting on a humid sigh—and suddenly Tina’s entire existence shrinks down to the heat and pressure of his mouth, the slide of his lips and the warm fan of his breath across her cheek. Newt’s hands haltingly card through her hair while he deepens the kiss and Tina gasps in wonder. He inhales her eager sound with a small, pleased sigh before returning it to her when she shyly touches her tongue to his upper lip, intent on tasting the small but intriguing scar she’d noticed upon their first meeting.

Newt allows her tentative explorations for only a moment before slowly easing them apart. His arms held her close as he presses tiny, close-mouthed kisses to her chin and cheek. She clings to him while her lips and face tingle, a welcome warmth blooming in her chest. Lower, unfamiliar heat pools in her belly, and she shudders while she buries her face in his neck.

“Well,” he whispers in a ragged voice, “for someone who claims to have no experience, Tina, you sure are good at that.” He pulls back far enough to meet her eyes, his hooded gaze somehow feline in the golden morning light. He examines her face before showing a small smile. “Was I truly your first?”

Tina nods, throat still too tight to manage speech. He sighs and spreads warm fingers over her back while resting his jaw on her shoulder. “Thank you for sharing that with me, then,” he whispers in her ear. “Do you still find this whole situation insupportable?”

She closes her eyes, the reminder of her reality acting like a dash of cold water on the glow of her momentary happiness. “You know it is,” she rasps. “Women like me...we don’t get second chances, Newt.”

He presses his face into her hair and breathes deeply of her scent. “Says who?” he murmurs and rubs her back when she stiffens. He moves to face her properly, large hands coming up to warmly squeeze her upper arms. “I’m not being thick, Tina. _Who_ says that a woman like you cannot have a second chance?” He gives her a moment to respond but she can only stare as he goes in implacably.

“A society that casts you into a hated role? The men who abuse you for their own paltry pleasures? Or is it perhaps the women themselves, who internalize these ideas until they _believe_ them, thereby perpetuating the cycle of abuse?” She trembles in shock and Newt drops a hand to tangle into the mesh of the hammock when it sways beneath them in warning. His other hand tightens its hold on her.

Tina ducks her head to process what he’s said until a large, warm palm cups her chin. He gently but firmly urges her gaze upwards, until their eyes meet and she can see the sincerity writ large in his. “I am entirely used to insupportable odds,” he says in the barest whisper. “They are my stock and trade, Tina. So believe me when I tell you that, if you’ll permit me—if you’ll allow it, I’d like to use that luck to your benefit. This is no life for you to lead.” He exhales shakily, and she can see what his forced explicatively costs him.

“I owe Jacob and Queenie a great deal,” he goes on, “for helping me fetch my Erumpent and my Niffler. You, I owe for Dougal and my Occamy—without your brave sacrifice, I would never have found them. MACUSA owes me more than both those debts combined, and I think I can use that to our advantage.” He sighs. “I’ve very few friends, Tina. I have no intention of rewarding them poorly.”

His hand slips down to thread their fingers together, hands pressed palm to palm as a slow tingle sinks into her skin. Tina stares at where they are connected through wide eyes before jerking her head up to him. “Is that what I am?” she asks in a shaky whisper. “A friend?”

Newt blinks at her while firming his trembling lips. “I think—” he cuts himself off to clear his throat roughly. “I think you could come to mean a great deal _more_ than that, in time.” Tina feels the tremor that works through him. “But for now yes, Tina. You _are_ my friend. Will you accept whatever it is I offer you to repay what I owe?”

Something small and hopeful blossoms in Tina’s chest, just beneath her heart. She takes in his earnest expression and the warmth in his eyes and asks the only question that seems prudent in that moment. “Do I have much choice?” She means it rhetorically but realizes her mistake when he recoils. _We keep missing each other_ , she thinks, recalling his words from last night, and tiredly closes her eyes.

“Of course!” Newt exclaims, features twisting in distress. “Tina, there is _always_ a choice. _Always_. Please, you must never think that it isn’t yours to make.” He scrambles out of the hammock to stand on wobbly legs and runs an agitated hand through his hair. Tina follows, leg tangling in the mesh until she kicks it free to step into his personal space and cup the nape of his neck. She tries to ignore how natural the move feels, how _right_.

“Shhh,” she says softly and runs gentle fingers through his hair. “Newt, it’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry, I misspoke. I didn’t mean it like that.” He calms immediately, and she hesitantly moves close enough to align their profile. “I know I have a choice when it comes to you,” she admits. “I _know_ that. Just, please understand that it’s going to take a long time to get _used_ to it.”

His throat clicks when he swallows. “All right, Tina,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’ll try my best to remember.”

She smiles, though it feels a little shaky on her face. It’s enough to convince Newt though because he relaxes until his gaze turns speculative and his eyes focus on her mouth. And Tina, overwrought and confused but buoyed by the steadily growing warmth in her chest, does the only thing she can think of to ease the remaining tension: she sways into him to claim his lips for her own until the only thing that _matters_ is the heat they share between them.

*


	17. Chapter Seventeen

*

They’ve just set a simple breakfast of bread, Newt’s preserves and porridge on the table when Queenie and Jacob appear with a small pop, hands joined and beaming happily.

Tina wipes her hands on a ragged cloth before rushing to envelope her sister in a hug, giggling together excitedly while Jacob clasps Newt’s back in greeting. The men share a smile and a masculine eye roll before Newt directs them to sit and brings down two more place settings. He ladles and serves the food, and leans against the counter to watch as they all eat, temporarily a large, happy, if oddly-matched family.

Newt eats slowly, careful not to get any food on his lips—he can still taste Tina there, and he’s in no hurry to see her flavor masked or removed. She glances at him shyly from time to time, and Newt doesn’t miss the way Queenie _beams_ at them each time she does or the way Tina’s face infuses with color when he catches her eye and offers a small, awkward smile. The sisters’ delighted laughter fills every corner of the room.

The girls clean up and discuss their plan of attack for their trip to market after breakfast, while Newt takes the opportunity to draw the other man aside. He leads Jacob to the other end of the tiny apartment, close to the naked windows and out of earshot of the women. There, he casts about for the best way to start his inquiry before deciding, in a fit of pique directed entirely toward his own inept interpersonal skills, to start in the middle.

“Your bakery,” he begins abruptly, and Jacob blinks at him owlishly. “You were unable to secure a loan?”

Jacob nods and sighs tiredly. “The bank apparently needs to be protected from guys like me, and I have no collateral. I guess I stayed in the army too long, I dunno.”

Newt raises an intrigued brow. “You fought in the war?”

Jacob scoffs and looks at him askance. “Of course I fought in the war, _everyone_ fought in the war—you didn’t fight in the war?”

Newt shakes his head, resisting the urge to get sidetracked and compare war stories. “I worked mainly with dragons,” he answers in an off-hand manner. “Ukrainian Ironbelly’s, Eastern front.” Jacob looks intrigued but refrains from further comment. Newt hides a smile while going on, struggling to come across as level and _open_ in a way that almost directly contradicts his nature.

“Jacob, er—I may be able to help you. However, I’d be asking you to perform a great favor for me as part of it. Would this—that is, would you be _willing_ to do that for me?”

Jacob stares, jaw slowly unhinging. He gapes for a long moment before remembering himself and looks around quickly while lowering his voice. “Newt,” he says, a slow, disbelieving smile unfurling over his face, “You help me get my bakery, and you could ask me to bake for the King of England himself—I’d do it. Of course, I’ll help you, guy!” He slaps him on the back, and Newt allows the corner of his mouth to lift happily. “My only question is, why would ya want to help _me_ out?”

Surprised, Newt looks up to be greeted by the sight of Jacob’s broad, friendly face sinking into a frown. He hastily scrambles to reassure. “Because I like you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, entirely unused to being so _explicit_ with his feelings. “Because you’re my friend.” He blinks when Jacob goes through another transformation, and wonders distantly what expression _he_ wears. “Besides, you are wasted in a canning factory.”

Suddenly exhausted by this display, Newt allows his fumbled explanation to trail off while Jacob stares hard at the ground. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are shining with careful joy, his mouth twitching against a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, Newt, I’ll accept your help, and I’ll do your favor. Whatever it is, just ask.” He tilts his head to the side and issues a stunned laugh. “Actually, you better tell me what that is now before I commit to it.”

Newt grins and boldly claps the other man’s shoulder. “Well,” he admits, “you’d be helping another friend of mine.” He can’t help it; his eyes cut across the room to where Queenie and Tina are pulling on their jackets and slinging baskets over their arm. Jacob follows his gaze with a knowing smile.

The girls say their goodbyes—Queenie radiant and almost bouncing with joy, Tina more subdued but seeming to shine from _within_ —and Jacob turns back to Newt with a smirk. “Oh, you’ve got it _bad_ , don't cha?” He teases. Newt’s too busy considering the words and ideas flashing through his head to rise to the bait.

“Actually,” Newt admits off-handedly with a smile, “I think I _do_.” He turns and guides Jacob toward the table. “You had better tell me all your plans, Mr. Kowalski. Then I will share my idea with you...”

*

They are neck-deep in Jacob’s business plans when Queenie and Tina return, but one glance at her is enough to change the trajectory of Newt’s thoughts entirely. Tina looks stricken, her sister barely able to support them both, and he is up and across the room to assist before he’s even consciously aware of moving.

“What is it?” he asks urgently while helping her untangle from her jacket. Tina gives him a long stare before drifting over to the kitchen table and sitting down heavily. Jacob shoves his documents into his briefcase in exaggerated movements that would be comical in any other context, and the three of them share an anxious look over Tina’s head before Queenie lifts a pointed brow, takes Jacob’s hand and Disapparates them away. Tina’s too distraught and inwardly-focused to notice.

Newt takes her hand without hesitation, sharing a wordless moment of solidarity with her. She stares at their twined fingers before finally looking at him, nervously scratching her eyebrow before her face crumples in...fear?

“I know you were upset about what happened last night. What that fella did to me, I mean,” she begins in a choked voice, “but I actually think I was _lucky_.” She closes her eyes while taking a deep breath, and Newt can _see_ her gathering her scattered thoughts.

She’s calmer when she looks at him again, gaze no longer quite so shattered. _That’s my Tina,_ he thinks affectionately, and pride swells in his chest.

“Queenie and I bumped into two other working girls this morning. Cecily and Ruby. They’re young—I helped show them the ropes back when they first started. Ruby has a little girl, and...” She chokes back a sob. “Anyways, there was a raid last night, about fifteen minutes after I left. I guess there was a tip-off from someone and it all got out of hand.” She swallows wetly. “Most of the girls I worked with were part of Gnarlak’s underground. The No-Maj part of it, anyway.”

Newt rubs soothing circles onto the back of her hands, and she stares at his fingers while struggling against tears. “Please don’t think me insensitive,” he finally murmurs after she’s calmed, “I understand that you are upset about your friends being arrested, but what has you so scared?”

Tina covers her face with her hands when sudden sobs take her. Newt’s heart twists painfully in his chest. He leans forward to gently tug her into his lap, where she curls up and weeps brokenly against his shoulder. He’s still deeply confused but calming her takes priority so he employs tentative, non-threatening touches and soothing whispers.

It takes a distressingly long time for her tears to evolve into hiccups, and his shirt is sodden with the evidence of her grief when she finally explains, breath tickling his sensitive neck.

“They think it was me,” she rasps. “They think I was the one who tipped them off. They didn’t _say_ it, but they didn’t have to—Queenie could hear it in their thoughts. Don’t you see? I can’t go back!” She presses her face into him as if she’s trying to climb into his skin. “I don’t have any prospects left, Newt. Even if I go to a different part of the island, I still mostly service No-Maj customers! So we’d either have to move, which we can’t afford, or I’d have to Obliviate all of them, which is ridiculous.” She sniffles unhappily before admitting in a small voice, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Newt presses a dry kiss to her forehead after a protracted pause, and she hums and leans into it gratefully. He repeats the gesture before trailing a line of chaste kisses over her nose and chin to brush against her mouth. Tina sighs when he doesn’t deepen the contact. Instead, he leans back just far enough to push her hair away from her face and meet her red-rimmed eyes.

“For the moment,” he says, “you should come down into my case. I’m going to make some tea and change my shirt, and you’ll have time to calm down. When you’re feeling better, we shall feed my creatures, if you’re amenable—and then I think it’s time we had a talk.” He closes her eyes, courage failing. “There are things that need to be discussed, you see.”

Tina exhales shakily. “It’s always my choice with you. Right?” she asks meekly, and he nods without hesitation. She takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go drink your magic tea and talk. Why not? It doesn’t appear as though I’m doing anything else tonight.” There’s no heat in her tone, just weary acceptance as she climbs to her feet with a sigh. He moves to take her hand and she allows it, squeezing his fingers in thanks.

Newt leads her toward his case and Tina follows, worriedly gnawing her lip as he helps her climb inside.

*

The tea proves as calming as previous nights, and Tina feels much more in control while Newt leads her around and tells her, in his gentle way, a little something about each creature they encounter. She watches with growing wonder as he greets, feeds and waters each beast and is greeted in his turn. They eventually make their way back to his shed, and she discovers to her amazement that _she feels better_.

She even teases him gently about his shirt, her tears now dried to a salt-crust at his collar, when he looks down in surprise. “I’d forgotten all about that,” he admits in a mumble, and the tip of his ears turn pink. Newt flashes her a startlingly orthodontic grin and her heart _squeezes_. “A good thing too, I think—otherwise I’d have to change again. Feeding the creatures tends to be dirty work, as you’ve seen.” He waves his hand and a clean shirt sails into it.

Newt reaches up to pluck at his bow-tie, loosening it before moving to the buttons at his throat. He raises a curious brow when she makes no move to turn away before looking down at himself deliberately. “You can watch me change if you’d like,” he says in a low, silky voice, “or you can turn around. I don’t mind either way.” He smiles slowly when his eyes fall to her lips. The urge to kiss him makes breathing unexpectedly challenging as her face heats in a blush.

Newt notices her sudden difficulties, for his smile mutates into something else entirely—something slow and warm that makes her stomach flutter pleasantly. He deliberately shrugs out of his waistcoat, eyes never leaving her mouth, before lowering his braces and unbuttoning his shirt with trembling hands. There he falters, wincing apologetically when he’s unable to take the next step: relieving his shirt of his trousers. His eyes fall to the floor.

“So sorry, Tina,” he says to her feet. “I don’t mean to tease. Especially now,” he mumbles while awkwardly putting his back to her. He shrugs out of his dirty shirt after prolonged hesitation while hastily reaching for the fresh one. He’s in the act of poking his fist into the sleeve when Tina makes a small sound, and Newt whips his head around in alarm.

She’s standing directly behind him with her bottom lip firmly clamped between her teeth. He watches her a little wearily as her hand floats out to brush the freckled skin stretched over his shoulders. There are the keloidal remains of a paw there, and she extends her fingers to trace its contours very gently before smoothing her palm over the rough scar. “What is this from?” she asks in a whisper, and Newt shivers while squeezing his eyes closed.

“Yeti,” he manages rather hoarsely. “The one I re-homed in Siberia before traveling through Africa.”

Tina hums thoughtfully and deliberately slides her hand across mottled skin to touch another blemish, this one a long, jagged gash. “And this?”

Newt swallows loudly. “Dragon. During the war. Um—she turned on one of the other handlers, and I couldn’t allow that. They would have put her down, you see.” A pause. “She felt terrible afterward. Wouldn’t eat for days, had to eventually talk to her myself. Show her I was unhurt.”

Tina brushes her hand along his right side, down the stack of his ribs to the toned muscles of his abdomen. She can feel the goosebumps she causes when she thoughtfully fingers a smooth, straight scar that runs parallel to his navel, and licks her lips. “And this one?” she finally asks. Newt exhales sharply and turns to face her.

“Appendectomy when I was young,” he answers, hands moving to cover hers, and it’s absolutely _not_ the answer she’s expecting. Tina giggles while he manages a wobbly smile, his eyes never leaving her face. He lifts her hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle lingeringly before pressing his lips to the soft underside of her wrist. Tina steps into him, close enough for their chests to touch.

Newt relinquishes her hands to wrap steady arms around her waist, and she leads their kiss when he angles his head, lips sliding together languidly as he holds her close. His hands flit over her hip, back, and shoulder while Tina brands the textured skin covering his chest with her hot palms until he gasps. She presses the opportunity to tentatively touch her tongue to his, and his heart begins to hammer beneath her palm when he welcomes the deeper kiss.

It’s the need for air that eventually drives them apart. Newt’s thumb traces the outline of her lips while they pant, and she keeps her hands on him as she wrestles with simple _want_. She has no claim to his skin but she can’t help feeling possessive of it; it’s warm and intriguing, and she feels the need to have and _know_ every inch. His eyes scan her face to read her deepest thoughts, for he licks his lips nervously as his ears turn pink.

“I think we’ve done enough for now,” he says before pressing tender lips to her jaw. “I want for more, of course, Tina—but I think we should stop this here before it goes any further.” He presses their cheeks together and she can feel the minute brush of his eyelashes when he blinks. “I don’t want for you to regret any part of what we do together.”

“I won’t,” she argues immediately, and he draws back to smile gently down at her.

“I know,” he says happily, “but I still couldn’t bear it if you _did_. Besides, there are still things to speak of, and after my suggestion, you may not feel quite so... _affectionate_ toward me.” He grows somber as he speaks. “Please, Tina. Let me speak my piece, and then if you wish it—perhaps—there can be more.” He takes a very deep breath. “But not tonight.”

Rejection steals into her, robbing her of breath. He squeezes her reassuringly. “Please don’t worry,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m only trying to make you more comfortable. I don’t mean to be paternalistic.”

“Well, you’re doing a bad job of it,” she manages and examines his reaction hopefully.

“So I realize. One of the things I must work on, I suppose.” He gently pushes her shoulders until she steps back far enough for him to pull on his shirt—but not button it, she notices with a thick swallow. Then he pulls her close once more, and threads their fingers together at his side to ask the last question she expects:

“Tina, how would you feel about working in a bakery?”

*


	18. Chapter Eighteen

*

The conversation, on the whole, goes better than she hoped; she answers his inquiries honestly, and Newt grins while he tells her of his machinations to help Jacob achieve his dream. “I only have to pull a few strings at MACUSA,” he says confidently, “and they owe me a favor per the president herself.” He eyes her intently from where he’s leaned against his workbench. “You won’t ever have to go back to that life again, Tina, if you can just wait a few months for Jacob to get his business established and opened.”

She agrees for the nonce, momentarily unwilling to argue about _how_ she’ll survive until then, and their moods are ebullient when they climb out of the case. Newt finally secures the buttons on his shirt and pulls on his waistcoat to make Queenie lunch, and they laugh together over beans while Newt quietly slips a bit of smoked meat into the would-be soup, adding a flavor and richness that sits strangely on Tina’s tongue. However, their moods dim when noon creeps closer to one and there’s still no sign of Queenie, sharing a glance that wordlessly conveys their mingled worry and fear.

Queenie finally arrives, looking somber and exhausted in her sturdy work dress. She takes their expressions in while sitting, tiredly scrubbing at her face with a work-reddened hand while Tina watches her questioningly and Newt quietly serves the beans and brown bread.

“It ain’t no big deal,” the blonde finally says off their worried looks, after she’s eaten her share. “Its just...everyone at work is wonderin’ about Credence, not in their up-top thoughts but the ones below. It’s _exhausting_ , having to keep the secret and from showing how much it hurts.” She sighs shakily and meets Tina’s eyes. “I can see how much it bothers you, honey. And your fella here, too.” She inclines her head toward Newt, who ducks his head shyly.

_He isn’t my fella_ is on the tip of Tina’s tongue, but then she stops and considers it. Queenie and Jacob enjoyed an instant connection, even the reticent magizoologist had noticed it. With her and Newt, the tenuous affection seemed much slower and _deeper_ , somehow. She first felt it when she refused to let him blend into the crowd that would take him away, back on that first day; it was amplified with their first kiss and now, every time he’s in proximity to her, something within her awakens and clamors for more. So, perhaps calling him ‘her fella’ wasn’t such a stretch after all.

_You win this round_ , she thinks at her sister with an incline of her head and is rewarded with a wan smile.

“I’m lucky, too,” Queenie goes on, once Newt is the approximate color of beetroot. “Jacob told me about what you’re going to do to help him with the bakery, Newt, and I can’t thank you enough. He already asked me to come work with him when he opens.” She sighs happily. “He also told me about your idea for helping Tina, and I can see that you two talked about it—and that she accepted.” She directs this last toward her sister. “I’m glad, Teenie. We both landed good guys.”

Tina hides her face in her hands and Queenie laughs, the sound like a ripple of silver bells. “Oh sis, we’ll be all right,” she murmurs when Tina ponders, once again, how they’ll get by without her income. “I’ll pick up double shifts at New Salem, and I’m sure...” Queenie hesitates only a moment before plunging on. “I’m sure Newt and Jacob will do their best to help us both out. Won’t you, honey?” She directs this last at Newt.

“Yes, of course,” he answers right away, and Tina cautiously lifts her head. Across from her, the blonde beams at Newt as he goes on. “I will do whatever I can, have no fear. I won’t see you starving or...or homeless.” He shifts, uncomfortable with being the center of their attention. “It wouldn’t even be charity if that’s what you’re thinking; I still owe you a great deal for helping me find Dougal and my occamy.”

Tina waves this away. “It wasn’t anything,” she insists, “but...I’m grateful for any help you offer, anyways.” She says this with an endearing combination of awkward pride and humility, and Newt stares at her until Queenie laughs again, delighted.

“Oh, he’s got it _bad_ ,” she says with a conspiratorial wink, and the dark-haired sister flushes when Newt jolts his gaze to the table. Queenie waves her wand to clean up the small meal and then hugs them both airily. “I gotta get back.” She searches their faces until she finds whatever she was looking for and nods. Then she Disapparates with a small crack while Tina sighs and scrubs her eyes.

“She always does that,” she says in response to Newt’s curious look, and they share a comfortable laugh before going their separate ways: him to his case, her to her light housework.

*

Tina fetches him for supper later, and Newt is pleased to see that Jacob has joined them. It’s a surprisingly boisterous affair, as they are coming to realize things tend to be when the four of them are together. Newt supplies a delicious side of fish that he claims to have picked up somewhere in Scandinavia, and they eat thin slices of it between thick hunks of bread. They agree it’s one of the better meals they’d enjoyed recently, and Tina even goes so far as to joke that she’ll get fat—until Newt frowns at her thunderously and the joke fell flat.

“I’d rather see you fat,” he says later when she’s come down to bid him goodnight. She tilts her head in confusion and he goes on haltingly, fingers knotting before him. “I think that you are far too thin. I know that is the fashion nowadays, as much as I _can_ understand these things, but still.” He exhales sharply. “I suppose it isn’t welcome, my fretting, and I’m sorry—but I can’t seem to help it where you’re concerned.”

“You’re right,” Tina agrees gently, hopelessly endeared. “I _am_ too thin, and I’m sure you can guess why. I never really gave it much thought.” She shrugs, awkward in the way she always was when speaking of her past. “Ma and Pa made sure we had enough to eat, but they were always too thin too. I guess, in a way, I’m glad I never had to make that decision for me and Daniel.” She looks up, hesitantly meeting his eyes. “Is that selfish of me?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “It’s not selfish to wish to spare your child unnecessary suffering. If anything, it makes you human.” He sets down an empty feed bucket, the last of the night, and leans his hands into the small of his back. He bends and flexes until a series of pops sound, grimacing in satisfaction. Then he turns and extends his hand, smiling at her gently.

“I will see you off to bed, if I may,” he says softly. She hesitates, eyeing him. He waits patiently, offered hand never faltering, allowing her to wrestle her conflicted emotions. She finally decides to take another chance on him, carefully setting aside her reservations.

“Actually,” Tina says slowly, “I was wondering if I could stay down here. With you, I mean.” She glances over at the desert habitat. “It’s much warmer here than up in the apartment, and Queenie is going back to work soon—one of the girls had a baby and needs a few days, so she’s picking up the hours.” She worries her lip. “It would really make me happy,” she finishes weakly and waits for his reaction.

Newt rubs a hand over the back of his neck, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Of course you may stay down here, Tina.” He smiles sheepishly. “I had intended to take a bath,” he admits, “but I can do that while you prepare for bed, I suppose. I’ll be just behind the shed, don’t...don’t go back there, please.” A pause before he goes on with a deliberately raised eyebrow. “I’ll just go set up now. Should I arrange for two sleeping areas...or one?”

Tina thrills inwardly but strives to keep her face calm. “Oh, I think one should be fine,” she says as casually as she can manage.

Newt nods. “Alright,” he says with that same forced coolness. “I’ll just set that up then, and, um, take my bath. Meet me back here in, say...twenty minutes? Does that work?”

“Make it thirty,” she agrees eagerly, “and it’s a date. _Plan_. Um, do you need anything else from upstairs when I come back down?”

Newt looks at her, and his eyes are _dark_. “Just you,” he murmurs with heartbreaking honesty. Tina restrains the urge to throw herself at him. She settles for a slow kiss as she passes him on the way to the ladder before smiling down.

“I’ll see you in thirty,” she whispers and gently closes the lid behind her.

*

Tina comes slowly awake the following morning to a gorgeous desert sunrise before turning to find mellow green eyes regarding her. They trace her profile worshipfully before blinking into a smile, and she grins back.

“Good morning,” she whispers and leans in to kiss him. Newt welcomes her with a satisfied sigh, calloused hands stroking her cheeks when what began as a gentle caress deepens and expands until Tina’s skin tingles with reaction and she squirms against him in a bid for contact.

He makes a low sound while drawing back to place his now-signature tiny kisses along her jaw. Tina gasps when his morning stubble rasps her skin, and he chuckles softly. His fingers tangle in her hair as he moves to put them on their sides.

“Easy,” he whispers while stroking her scalp. “There is no need to rush, Tina.” He examines her face with gentle eyes and she has to refrain from sighing in disappointment. An old, familiar insecurity rises to choke her, though she does her best to brush it aside. Newt slowly frowns as he watches her, making her realize she did a poor job of hiding it.

“It’s okay,” she says quickly. “I understand. I probably wouldn’t want to do anything with me, either.”

Newt’s mouth falls open as his hand convulsively contracts in her hair. She winces and he blinks hard while making a small sound, petting her scalp in apology and soothing the slight ache he’d caused there. “So sorry,” he mumbles. Then, unable to look her in the eye, “Is that what you think the problem is? That I don’t _want_ to?”

Tina blinks and chews her lip. “Well, yeah.”

Newt abruptly leans close to initiate another blistering kiss. He pulls back with a small whine once they’re both breathless, his eyes smoldering down at her. “Does _that_ seem like I don’t want to?” he asks in a throaty whisper. Tina’s fingers quiver where they touch his jaw. He purrs and sways into her touch before ducking his chin to nibble her fingers. Tina, awash with sensation, closes her eyes as a tremble works through them both.

“No, it doesn’t,” she finally concedes, and he kisses her again.

“Good, because it’s not that I don’t want to, Tina. I assure you that I—I _do_ ; I just don’t want you to think that all of this has been to, to...” He trails off with a helpless gesture. Tina fits this admission of _want_ in with her previously gleaned knowledge of him, of the careful way he’d treated her, and her cheeks flame pink. She lowers her head, feeling suddenly callous.

“I’m sorry.” It’s her turn to apologize, and she’s _so tired_ of it. “I just assumed you weren’t interested because...” She lets the sentence trail off while Newt draws circles into the skin of her hand and wrist. He tilts his head to the side while considering her.

“Would it make you feel better or more...secure? If we were to do those things?”

Tina swallows hard and gives the question the serious consideration, weighing her own reactions and desires against what she knows of the man next to her. Eventually, she shrugs. “I don’t know if I’d feel _better_ ,” she says slowly, “but I think I’d feel...” Tina stares into the middle distance, carefully feeling along her words. “...more comfortable. But that’s not it, either. I think I’d just feel like I was on familiar footing.”

“Do I put you that much off-balance?” Newt asks gently, and now his fingers trace down the length of her throat. Her skin pimples into goosebumps and thinking becomes difficult when Tina finds her focus wandering to where he touches her.

“Yes,” she manages breathlessly. “You put me very off-balance, Newt. Even when you aren’t trying.” His fingers press gently over her voice-box before tracing the length of her jugular to feel her frantic pulse. She gasps raggedly while covering his hand with her own. “Please don’t stop,” she whispers, and he hums when he kisses her temple. His fingers continue to tease though, and Tina closes her eyes in relief while sagging into the hammock.

She whines in complaint when Newt removes his hands from her skin without warning. There’s a rustle of fabric until suddenly, increasingly familiar lips press to where his fingers have recently abandoned. She gasps raggedly, and his breath washes over her in a chuckle. His mouth moves up to discover a spot just beneath her jaw that causes her heart to trip-hammer in her chest. Tina reaches to curl her fingers into his hair, intent only on keeping him _there_.

He makes a pleased sound while breaking away from her skin. Tina whines and opens her eyes wide in supplication. Newt kisses her deeply before meeting her gaze levelly. “Only if you’re sure,” he says clearly. “Only if this is what you _want_ , Tina. I won’t force you into this, or anything else, ever.”

Her hands tremble when she reaches out to squeeze his shoulders, but her voice is amazingly steady. “I am sure,” she manages. “I’ve just never done anything like _this_ before, so please don’t be disappointed in me.”

Newt hums, a little sadly. “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried,” he responds with disarming honesty. Tina closes her eyes against the unexpected declaration. Tears dampen her lashes, unwelcome in this moment until calloused thumbs gently brush them away. He sits up enough to drop feather-light kisses over her eyelids until the burning passes, then lays back to tug her over him, threading his fingers at the nape of her neck.

“Well, Miss Goldstein,” he teases gently, “you finally have me where you want me. Shouldn’t you do something about it?”

Tina leans forward, pressing their chests together to stop just short of his lips. She is gratified when he juts his chin in an attempt to complete the connection but stops short of lifting his head. She brushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles when his eyelids flutter at the contact, his breathing already sounding deep and labored.

“I think I’d better,” she agrees and closes the gap between them.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Just in case it isn't clear from the context:** the next chapter contains smut. However, I've structured this story in such a way that, if smut isn't your thing, I can skip chapter 19 altogether, pick up on chapter 20 and lose _nothing_ relevant to the storyline. The same goes for chapter 21, which will also be smut-heavy.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

*

Tina directs her Newt to kiss her and he _does_ , doing a thorough and impressive job of it until she breaks away to breathe. She pants into his shoulder while arching over him as his wonderful, talented mouth drifts over her jaw to her neck. She makes a low sound and presses closer.

“ _Eager_ ,” he manages. Tina gasps and pulls away. He whines at the loss of contact, and she allows herself a small, triumphant smile.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I’ve just, I’ve never felt...this.” Newt stares up at her, hair disheveled and expression sad. She leans in to kiss the frown away. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” she whispers fiercely against his lips. “I’m here with you, and I know you can show me what I’ve been missing.”

He makes a rough sound before daringly nibbling her bottom lip. It takes a while for her to finish the thought, as distracted as she is by his teeth. “So show me,” she finally directs past the buzzing in her skull, and his arms wrap around her.

Their combined weight sags the middle of the hammock until she gives in to the inevitable with a grateful sigh. He slides into the dip when she moves over, only to gasp loudly when she slings her leg over him, straddling his torso to rest lightly against his stomach. His hands naturally drift down to her hips as she lowers herself to his mouth, where he sighs into her kiss. She can feel him trembling minutely beneath her.

“Is this okay?”

He runs his tongue out to taste the curve of her jaw. “This is perfect,” Newt promises.

His hands caress the ladder of her ribs until Tina sits up to _see_ him. She stares down into his enthralled face, all tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips, and realizes with a jolt that the reverence in his gaze is entirely for _her_. It makes something warm and ancient stir deep within her, curling around her heart before condensing in her chest and sinking lower. She squirms, suddenly reinvigorated, only to be reminded that she is entirely bare beneath her nightgown.

Newt realizes it in the same instant if the way his eyes simultaneously brighten and tighten is any indication. His heavy-lidded gaze drifts over her face while he moistens his lips. “Tina,” he asks, voice cracking slightly, “I don’t mean to disappoint, but I’m afraid I’m rather...well. I’m in a bit of a _state_. Would it be all right for me to pleasure you alone this morning?”

He clenches her nightgown while speaking before smoothing over the wrinkles. His voice dips as he goes on, and Tina has to bite back a small, plaintive moan at the sound of it, her hips rolling against him shallowly. “I think you’d quite enjoy what I have in mind if you’ll allow it.” He sucks in a quick breath. “I’ve thought of doing little else with you since I—since you granted me permission to think of you that way.”

“So, hardly two days, then?” she teases. He flushes when he looks up at her.

“Yes,” he answers simply. Then his hands fan over her sides, thumbs rubbing soothing crescents through the fabric. Tina’s sigh ends on a hungry moan, and she can feel her cheeks heating in embarrassment. Newt licks his lips while watching her face.

“Don’t be ashamed of any sound you make here between us,” he murmurs. “I assure you, Tina—it is immensely gratifying, but if it makes you uncomfortable I won’t encourage the response. Please, do what makes you happy.”

Tina absorbs this before fisting her nightgown in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut. “My skin feels strange,” she says hoarsely, unsubtly changing the subject. She discontentedly tugs at her clothing until Newt’s calloused hands cover her own. He makes a shushing sound while sitting up to cup her cheek.

“Breathe,” he whispers gently. “If it bothers you, take it off. I believe that will help the discomfort.”

Tina reaches down to gather the draping fabric before pulling it off with a relieved sigh. Her hair swings around her head in a dark cloud as she tosses it aside. She opens her eyes to find him steadily watching her face, his expression inscrutable. Newt swallows, and she can see his throat working through the open collar of his pajamas. “Is that better?” he asks hoarsely. Tina nods while leaning forward to thread her arms around his shoulders, and does her best to project easy confidence when she speaks.

“You can look,” she says, somehow unable to raise her voice above a whisper. “You can touch, too, if you want. I don’t...I don’t mind.”

Tina watches his throat work while he makes a visible attempt at relaxing. Newt allows his eyes to drop to her chin and neck before dipping lower. His exhale is slow and shaky as his gaze lingers, until he brings his attention back to her face, framing her jaw between both hands.

“You are remarkably lovely,” he breathes against her lips before sealing them together with a kiss. She arches into it, and the feeling is like melting—the itch beneath her skin diminishing enough for her to focus on _other_ things.

Her restless fingers eventually find the buttons on the front of his pajama bottoms. Newt makes a gently negating sound before breaking away. “Not right now,” he whispers. He takes the sting out of his rejection by dragging his lips over her jaw while easing her fingers away from his center. “This morning will be all about you, If I may.” His hand gently cradles her throat while Tina fists his top. He chuckles, there against her ear, before flicking his tongue out to taste it.

She shudders at the feeling and allows herself to moan, long and slow. He holds his breath to hear it in its entirety as the pace of his heart increases beneath her shaky hand. He leans back to read her expression and Tina has to bite back another moan—he looks wonderfully wanton even now, and the urge to press him down and _take_ is nearly overwhelming.

“May I confirm your permission to touch?” Newt asks. She nods frantically. He doesn’t tease her, instead pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw and throat while his hand abandons her neck to trail downward—over her sternum and between her breasts to rest upon the slightly spongy skin of her belly. His other hand follows and Tina, feeling suddenly unsteady, clings desperately to his upper arms. His mouth finds the tender skin where her neck and shoulder meet, and she keens when he sucks a bruise into it before soothing the mark with his lips.

Newt smoothes over the slight curve of her hip when his mouth moves up to reclaim hers. He kisses her hard enough to brand her skin with his morning stubble, teasing delighted sounds out of her throat as his hands brush the sides of her breasts, causing a wave of shivers to ripple across her skin. They take the maddening itch with them as Tina gasps her shock. Newt takes the sound to swallow it with a pleased hum.

Tina shudders while hunching closer to him, nearly desperate for increased contact. Newt obliges her fervently, his hands brushing over her shoulders to glide down her arms and tangle their fingers together briefly before reversing course. He lightly touches her collar and chest until she’s gasping and twitching, and she can feel his mouth curl into a triumphant grin.

Then, at last, his fingers slip down the front of her body to her small breasts, covering them entirely with his fine hands. Her nipples stiffen wantonly at the contact, shivery tingles chasing through her as her head falls back on a moan. Newt exhales harshly. He adjusts his hold so he’s pinching her nipples between his second and third finger as she arches into him without shame. He squeezes the globe of her breast while gently tugging her stiff peaks, causing her to gasp in delight. His sultry mouth descends to her throat and shoulder, murmuring encouragements into her skin before dragging lower.

Newt’s hands drop to her hips to urge her slightly _upwards_. She goes blindly while his mouth lays a hot trail down her sternum to lick the underside of her breast until a torrid tongue drags up and over her nipple to the base of her neck. Her head falls back with a ragged sigh, her fingers tangling in his wild hair. His approving gasp sinks into her skin as he directs his clever tongue to her other breast and mirrors the gesture.

Liquid heat pools in her lower belly when Newt’s hands go beneath her arms. He leans her back while dragging his mouth over the entirety of her torso, tasting the stack of her ribs and the dip in her waist before gently kissing the thin, thready scars surrounding her navel. Then he blazes a wet trail upwards, purring in the back of his throat until he finds and kisses her mouth religiously.

She can’t be sure which one of them is making what hungry sound; she only knows that she wants more, and she _needs_ him closer.

Tina quickly turns her head to make sure his legs are out of the way before unceremoniously falling backward. Newt is dragged along with her until he gets the idea, then his strong arms steady her so she lands gently while he rolls onto his knees. He hovers over her thoughtfully, kneeling between her thighs while looking intrigued by the sudden change in positions. Tina twitches her shoulders in an innocent shrug. He cocks an amused eyebrow while she tugs him close.

“It’s alright,” she says against his smirking lips. “I want you to touch me, and it seems like it’d be easier this way. Please, Newt.”

He kisses her, and they’re both panting with need when he draws back. “Does your skin still ache?” he asks. She can’t hide her smirk.

“Maybe a little...” It’s not the complete truth but his eyes smile down at her, and she can’t bring herself to care.

“I can help that, I think,” he muses, before growing serious when his hands fall still. She feels the loss of sensation acutely until he opens his mouth to speak. “Does permission to touch extend below the waist? Or is that area...off-limits to me?” Tina blinks up at him in confusion until he opens his mouth to explain. However, he doesn’t get past parting his lips before she lays a finger on them.

“Yes,” she says, and prays the slight nervous tremor in her limbs doesn’t show. “You can touch me everywhere and _anywhere_ , Newt. I thought we established that.”

“It never hurts to check,” he mumbles, but his focus is already shifting.

His eyes sweep over her from his new vantage point while he leans in for another life-affirming kiss, before dragging his mouth down to re-map previously explored territory. Tina closes her eyes and surrenders to his ministrations with a hum, her muscles quivering in anticipation.

She quickly discovers that this new position allows the _intensity_ of his touch to be even more focused than earlier, and she can only bite back so many gasps and moans. _More_ , she thinks desperately, or maybe she says it, because he chuckles while pressing a wet, teasing kiss to the flare of her hip. Tina whines and tugs his hair in retribution, wanting but unsure of _what_ she wants, until he skims his teeth up the length of her outer thigh. Her breath catches with a gasp and when it returns, she’s panting loudly.

Newt’s thoughtful hum sinks into her skin, causing her to shiver. His hands go to her knees, slowly pushing her legs apart. She thoughtlessly complies and he hums again, this time in encouragement. His tongue, his wicked, _wonderful_ tongue, returns to her skin—only now on her _inner_ thigh, tracing lazily along her tendon while working towards—

Tina’s brain stumbles to a halt, unsure if she should be feeling elated or mortified. She struggles to think past the thick haze of lust he’s inspired, lifting her head to stare at him through wide, slightly wild eyes. He meets her gaze placidly but doesn’t remove his mouth from her skin. Instead, he captures her attention and _keeps going_ , inching inexorably closer to the secret heart of her: the damaged, much-abused, always-tortured core of her being.

She exhales explosively. “Do you realize what’s _gone on_ down there?!” she hisses in disbelief. His eyes flick over her, his serene expression never wavering. If anything, he grows even calmer when he deliberately ducks his head to place a soft kiss on her bald mound. He fabricates another one of those little hums while doing so, which Tina can _feel_ vibrating through her center. She grits her teeth while determinedly focuses on _not_ clenching her thighs around his head.

“Yes,” Newt answers her in a level voice. He places one more damp kiss just _there_. “I simply don’t care. None of that is _relevant_ now, Tina. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—and show you.” Another kiss, this one a bit lower, and her head falls back with a shocked gasp.

He waits, presumably to allow her to tell him to stop or redirect his attention elsewhere. He wriggles closer after a long, tense, _silent_ moment. Tina squeezes her eyes shut when one of her legs is gently pushed into her chest while the other is guided over his shoulder. His breath puffs against her core, and she realizes with a shocked jolt that the normally dry creek-bed at her center is _sodden_ with moisture.

_Newt, what are you doing to me?_ she thinks, until he runs out his tongue to taste her and thinking becomes impossible.

Tina hooks her fingers into his hair and subconsciously arches her back. The action of his tongue vaguely calls to her mind a cat at a saucer of cream: short, sharp laps designed to draw her pleasure _out_. Still, it’s entirely beyond anything she’s known before, and each sweep of damp velvet makes something deep within her coil, until she’s tense and trembling, unfamiliar heat flowing from his mouth to sink into her very _bones_.

“Newt!” She gasps frantically, her hand fumbling from the nape of his neck to squeeze his shoulder. He stops pulling at her immediately to nibble her inner thigh.

He lifts his head in a rustle of fabric. She doesn’t look at him, too afraid of what she’ll see reflected back at her. “Too much?” he asks. She gasps her frustration, simultaneously relieved and left dangling.

“I don’t know, it feels good, I just—” Tina’s heart begins to hammer when Newt kisses her skin sweetly. She swallows and takes a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I’m not—I don’t—”

“You feel like you’re going to fall,” he murmurs, and she closes her eyes as relief sweeps over her.

“ _Yes_. Yes, that’s it exactly.”

Newt moves to press a damp kiss to her mound while petting the curve of her hip. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks gently. “Or shall I keep going? It’s up to you, Tina.”

Tina swallows down her reservations to stroke the nape of his neck. Her other hand brushes his hair back from his brow as she opens her eyes to meet his. “It’s just like what I used to do to myself at school, right?” She asks in a nervous whisper. “The same thing?”

Newt doesn’t look away, but he does lean his head against her thigh. His hand settles down to drag calloused fingertips over her skin until she shivers. “Yes,” he says finally, “but I think you’ll find that it feels...fuller. More fulfilling.” He draws a shaky breath. “I’d like to make you experience that, if I may.”

“Okay,” she agrees breathlessly. “Okay, just...don’t let me fall.”

“I’ll catch you,” he rejoins immediately. She stops breathing, for a bare moment, when her heart leaps into her throat. “I’ve got you, Tina,” he promises and dips his head to pull at her once more.

Tina focuses all of her being on where he laps at her, until every other bit of sensory input is rendered moot by sheer pleasure. She opens her eyes to stare at the slanted ceiling in profound wonder when his tongue discovers the cluster of nerves she recalls from fumbling self-experimentation in her youth, only to drift closed when he makes a pleased sound and wraps his lips around it.

Her molten core begins to shift and flow. Tina arches to get _closer_ to him, anchoring a hand on the nape of his neck while the other fists his hair, shoring herself against the onslaught. She hisses between her teeth when green eyes flick open to lance her with a low sound. The vibration makes her skin quiver, and she bares her teeth in subconscious warning. His tongue dances away from her most sensitive spot without warning and disappointment rocks her.

“ _Newt_ ,” she keens as her hips begin a slow, autonomous roll against him. He repositions his arms and lifts his head to rock with her, until he breaks the seal of his mouth to murmur into her folds.

“It’s alright,” he whispers while drawing his tongue over her in wide, flat strokes. Her vision greys out until he nips at her outer lips and jerks her back to reality. “I’ll catch you,” he repeats, and his tongue resumes its heated stroking until her toes curl and her limbs tense. He ducks his head and she can feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself more fully to pleasing her, tongue dragging over her in long strokes, pressing deeper into her sensitive flesh until her chest hitches and a flush covers her fair skin, driving anticipation before it.

Something coiled and tense deep inside her _gives_ without warning. Tina cries out as warmth and light floods her, seeming to wash into every cell in her body to burn her _clean_ from within. Her hips undulate as she mindlessly tries to squirm away from the focused onslaught, but he simply tightens his hold to follow her subconscious movements, mouth never relenting. Heat prickles her sweat-slick skin as she rides the ragged end of her release, until she slumps into the hammock and Newt, panting, slows and eventually halts his ministrations.

Silence rushes in, broken only by the occasional call or trumpet of a beast, now fully awake and past-due for their morning rounds. Tina gasps and trembles until her senses return to her, and only distantly feels it when Newt peppers her inner thigh with scratchy kisses before rocking back onto his haunches to rub the muscles in her numb legs. She languidly rolls her head forward to watch him, eyelids heavy.

“Welcome back,” he murmurs with a small smile. She notes the dampness on his chin at the same time he does. He wipes it away casually before leaning over to retrieve her nightgown. Newt helps her sit and tug it over her head, and sweetly ignores the trembling in her limbs when she makes to stand and has to clutch his shoulders for balance.

“Is it always like this afterward?” She asks dazedly. Newt presses a kiss to her forehead while Tina closes her eyes and leans into it. He sighs happily and folds her close while nuzzling her cheek and ear.

“Not always,” he says finally. “The first time is usually the most intense, but repeated instances can foster _closeness_ between two people.”

“We can feel this together?” She asks curiously. Newt grins.

“Yes, of course. That’s how it _should_ be, Tina.” He slides his hands down her sides to hold her hips before kissing her deeply. There’s a musty undertone to his kiss that she recognizes as _herself_ , and she curiously chases it with her tongue. They separate after a time and when he moves, she can feel the long, pulsing line of him against her thigh. He sighs raggedly when she squirms against it.

“Together,” she muses and swallows while anxiously examining his face. “Can we? I mean, can we do that...together?”

“Of course we can,” he breathes after a moment, and tender fingertips brush her cheek before he kisses it. “But...not right now, I’m afraid.” He huffs a small laugh when her face falls. “The creatures need feeding, and I’m nervous about overwhelming you. Besides, I have to go to MACUSA today, and I’ll need all my wits about me.” He drags his callouses down her neck before sighing gently. “Thinking of _you_  would be an extreme distraction, I’m afraid.”

“So we’re going to wait until I’m ready. Right?” Tina asks, suddenly needing reassurance, and he kisses her deeply.

“You know the answer to that,” Newt murmurs before taking her hand. They fit together as though they were equal halves of a matched pair, and the realization makes her smile. “But right now, we must feed the creatures, and then feed ourselves.” He gestures with a small smile. “After you, of course.”

Tina kisses his cheek and, delighting at the _absurdity_ of it all, leads him deeper into the case on legs that still tremble with reaction.

*


	20. Chapter Twenty

*

Tina spends the day immersed in self-reflection, trying to assimilate this new knowledge of _herself_ with everything she's known up to this point.

She helps Newt feed his menagerie, petting and cooing at them when appropriate, but otherwise keeping her distance. He makes no attempt to hide his approving grin, and she’s still deeply relaxed so she allows him to cook breakfast while she goes to wake an exhausted Queenie.

There’s good food and quiet but lively conversation until they go their separate ways to dress and prepare for the day. Tina sees her sister off when Queenie hugs her warmly, and Newt shyly asks if she would watch his case while he ventures to MACUSA.

Then he’s gone, but not without a proper goodbye kiss, and she’s left to her own devices.

Tina pulls on her jacket and checks her money pouch—finding an entire dollar bill that wasn’t there yesterday and wondering about it for only a moment—before slinging her basket over her arm. She carefully locks the door and takes a deep breath of cold air when she steps onto the stoop, waiting for some sign that the world without has changed as drastically as the world within her.

There is none and, smiling faintly at her own absurd notions, pulls her hat lower over her ears and heads to market.

*

Tina returns home dejectedly an hour later with undersized potatoes, a few shriveled onions, a wilted head of cabbage, and no meat at all. Still, she peels and chops and fries, and even uses a dab of the extravagant butter Newt had given them. Queenie arrives at noon to enjoy a lunch of fried potatoes, and the sisters talk very little while they eat. That doesn’t stop Queenie from smirking at her from across the table, however, while Tina ducks her head and tries very hard not to be embarrassed.

“I won’t tease you,” Queenie finally whispers as she puts on her coat before pulling Tina into a hug. “But I _am_ happy.” She hesitates for a moment before going on. “And I’m glad you approve of Jacob. It means the world to me, Tina, and Newt’s going to make sure it can all happen. Things’ll work out; you’ll see.”

“I wish I could share your confidence,” Tina mumbles, but she’s pleased despite herself, and giggles along with Queenie as she floats out the door.

Then she cleans up the remnants of lunch before determinedly turning her wand on the apartment and cleaning that, too. Tina even does the laundry and the mending in a bid to stave off boredom and worrying, debating only a moment before including Newt’s clothing in the mix. The intimacy inherent to handling his garments is not lost to her, and she has to bite her lip as she patiently repairs one of his well-worn waistcoats.

Long shadows draw across the apartment by the time the housework is finished. Left with nothing to keep her occupied, her mind invariably begins to wander.

_I’d be getting ready for work now,_ Tina realizes. She goes to stand by the bare windows, watching the crowds pass through sunset below and finally allowing her mind to turn to her strange, new existence. A lone snowflake drifts by from tattered clouds as she inhales deeply. _But I don’t have to go out there,_ she reminders herself, and the warmth of surety fills her as she presses her hand to the cold glass. _I don’t have to do that again if I don’t want to; Newt will help me._

This new understanding lifts and crushes her at the same time. It feels like she’s giving up much of her independence, to think of herself as even slightly dependent on another human being—especially a man. At the same time, it fills her with quiet joy and hopes for a future that, until very recently, she’d never considered possible for herself. _Mercy Lewis, you’ve gotten sentimental in your old age,_ she thinks and snorts a rueful laugh.

The glass fogs over with her humor and through the cloudy sheen, she spots a distinctive blue coat and sideways gait. She rocks on the balls of her feet excitedly and waits to see if he’ll look up. He does, and spots her through the glass, staring for a long moment before lifting his hand in a tentative wave. She waves back excitedly as he steps into a shaft of evening sunlight spilling between two buildings, its golden glow rendering him temporarily bright and almost ethereal. His hair turns into a fiery halo around his angular face while Tina’s breath catches in wonder.

_Oh, you’ve got it_ so bad _for him_ , she thinks with distant worry, before shoving the thought aside to admit him into the apartment.

*

The first thing Newt does after shrugging off his jacket is set his case in the middle of the floor and climb inside. His voice drifts to her ears before Tina has time to be hurt by this. “I’ll be right up,” he calls, and she relaxes. She hears him rifle around on his workbench until he re-emerges seconds later, having stripped off his bow-tie and suit jacket and loosened the collar of his shirt.

He’s carrying a small parcel, which he sets on the counter before Summoning a glass and pouring a generous dollop of whiskey. He knocks it back neatly, grimacing slightly before reaching for the bottle. Tina raises an eyebrow when he pours himself another, sipping it slowly as the tension eases out of his limbs.

“That’s better,” he declares and offers Tina the glass. She takes it with a shrug and swallows the drink, coughing as it burns the entire way down. He Summons a second glass to offer a toast. “To our good fortune and long life,” he says without a trace of irony, and they drink together. Tina fiddles with the tumbler while Newt stares into his reflectively, the silence long but comfortable until the suspense is too much and she is forced to break it.

“So, how’d it go?” Tina finally blurts. Newt’s answering smile is slow and wide.

“Better than I could ever have hoped,” he admits and shows his teeth in a grin. He pulls out a chair and gestured for her to sit, dropping opposite her once she’s settled. “I was able to persuade Madam President to agree to my requests, and I even have one or two favors left to call upon in the future, should the need arise.” He reaches slowly across the table until Tina meets him halfway, threading their fingers together. He squeezes their joined hands as his eyes smile at her.

“You’ll get your second chance, Tina,” he murmurs happily. “I know Jacob’ll be happy to employ you.” Newt takes a sip of his drink and goes on. “I think he and the younger Miss Goldstein may have a real chance at happiness, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Tina agrees with a smile. She takes a small sip of her whiskey, grimaces, and firmly pushes her glass aside. “But, um, Newt? How did you get MACUSA to agree to all this? I mean, I’m not really too concerned about the law, but aren’t you worried that Mr. Kowalski and Queenie will get in too deep? Get married, maybe even have children, and then MACUSA will find out and take it all away?”

Newt shakes his head confidently when she makes a frustrated sound. “I’m not trying to be a pill,” she says with exaggerated patience, “but how can you be so _sure_?” Newt grins until she rolls her eyes. Then he squeezes her fingers until she looks at his face to find him gravely serious.

“This was my recompense, Tina,” he says very clearly. “I had a theory that Jacob had magical ancestry. So part of the reason I was at MACUSA for the entire day is that I tested it.” Tina’s mouth falls open as the pieces start to come together, and he allows a triumphant smirk before going on. “He’s a few generations removed, but the hunch proved true. That is why he can see my beasts, Tina. It’s why he handles Disapparition so well and took to the concept of magic so easily. Magic is in his blood.”

Newt pushes aside his glass to wrap both his hands around hers while she gapes. “This is also why President Picquery still owes me: it wasn’t much to confirm something that I suspected, and the record now reflects the change. Your sister and Jacob are technically a legal gray area since Squib rights aren’t very advanced here, but she will look out for them herself. He’ll get his bakery, and his woman.”

He hesitates before going on in a much softer tone. “And you, my dear, will get a respectable job and an elevated social status, should you choose it. Please, Tina—tell me that you’ll accept this gift.”

Tina squeezes his hand reassuringly while snapping her jaw shut. “You’ve always been careful to give me the choice,” she whispers, “so I...I guess I’ll choose to accept this. I just don’t know what I’ll do in the meantime—I’ll be bored waiting for Jacob to open his bakery, but maybe I’ll use the time to improve my domestic spells.” She looks around the shabby apartment with a sigh. “And I look forward to having a steady income again.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” he says and meets her eyes. The moment draws out warmly, his eyes falling to her lips before he looks away with obvious effort. Tina, warmed from the inside, curls her toes against a reminiscent tingle.

Newt glances out the window, where dark has drawn down, before nodding his head toward the parcel. “May I cook for you?” he asks. “I made a stop before going to MACUSA, in hopes that tonight would call for a celebration.” He curls his fingers to pick nervously at his cuticles until Tina halts him by the simple expedition of squeezing his hand. He smiles at her hopefully.

“Of course you can cook for me, Newt,” she says warmly, and gets up to set the table.

*

Newt produces an entire chicken as if by magic, and though their oven is shoddy and inefficient on the best of days, manages to shore up the deficiencies enough to roast it into succulence while dressed in arcane herbs and spices. The delicious smell fills the small apartment, and Tina squirms with hunger while he peels and boils potatoes, whips up a gravy, and tosses together a salad from his mobile garden. He’s apologetic when he dresses the greens with basic vinegar and salt, causing Tina’s eyes to burn with sudden tears.

“No, it’s fine,” she manages around a tremulous smile while he puts the finishing touches on the meal. “This is...just fine.”

Queenie and Jacob show up just as the chicken is coming out of the oven. Her sister bounces in delight when she sees the spread. “Oh, Mister Scamander,” she enthuses with bright eyes, while Jacob’s kindly face beams. “This is the cat’s meow! We ain’t eaten this good since before Ma and Pa died, not even on Thanksgiving!” Newt bashfully ducks his head while Jacob’s booming laugh fills the room, and the men admonish the women to sit while they dish up the meal.

Supper is a happy occasion. Newt shyly tells the other couple of his successes at MACUSA and manfully endures Jacob’s enthusiastic hug and Queenie’s tearful kiss. Tina basks in it all and eats two plates of food, for once sparing no thought for her future as she drinks in the happy glow around the table. Newt explains to Jacob his ancestry while the other man absorbs it with fascination. He doesn’t mention marriage or any long-term goals, but then, he doesn’t have to—the way they smile at each other speaks volumes, and Tina finds herself grateful for that happiness too.

The night is topped off pleasantly when Jacob produces macaroons from his case, baked the previous evening and brought along as “a hunch, really.” Tina nibbles hers politely until Jacob and Newt climb into the magizoologist’s case, allowing she and her sister to clean up. Queenie laughs from time to time until Tina finally asks after what she finds so amusing.

“It’s your Mr. Scamander,” the blonde says happily. “He’s thinking about you, is all. He likes you, Tina. The way Jacob likes me, and I like Jacob. And he’s—oh. _Oh_. Teenie, you didn’t tell me you guys did _that_.” Tina feels her cheeks heat up as her sister giggles. Unashamed, the blonde pulls her into a quick hug before guiding her toward the battered couch.

“He’s thinkin’ about you and him together, is all, and about today.” Queenie’s eyes go unfocused when she hones in on the run of Newt’s thoughts. Tina finds herself torn between curiosity and telling her to stop. Curiosity wins out, and she turns to her smiling sister with open interest.

“Mercy Lewis, ain’t that accent a bear!” Queenie says breathlessly. “But I think I can figure him out. He’s happy, Tina. With _you_ , and every time he thinks about you, he gets all warm inside. He ain’t used to it.” She squints into the middle distance while chewing her lip. “He’s also afraid you’re gonna tell him to scram. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you—that’s clear as a bell: ‘I’m not good enough for her’. It makes me sad because I know you think the same thing about _him_.”

Then she giggles, and Tina leans forward when her eyes clear and she turns to her with a bright grin. “He could feel me, and he just told me to ‘bugger out’ of his head. But not before I saw what he has planned for you…” Tina rolls her eyes when her sister squeezes her arm excitedly. “I know you’re nervous, Teenie, but I promise that he will be _good_ to you. He’s swell, like my Jacob. There’s ain’t any other like him. Give him a chance, will ya?”

Tina nervously presses her hands together. “Well, if you saw what we did this morning, then you know I already _have_ ,” she murmurs. Queenie tuts doubtfully.

“Oh, honey,” she breathes and pulls Tina into a hug. “It ain’t the same, and you know it. You’ve always been fine with sex; it’s emotions that mess you up. But your Newt, he ain’t in it for that. He can wait for you, but he’s willing to let you lead, and he knows that you need to be _comfortable_ to get to know him.” She exhales while a small frown wrinkles her brow.

Then her expression clears and she hugs Tina. “That ain’t true, either,” she breathes in her ear. “He doesn’t see you as used or damaged.” She kisses her cheek. “You know what his first thought was when he figured out what you had to do to get by?” She pauses to give Tina a chance to respond and goes on after her sister shakes her head. “He thought, ‘she should be a factory boss or an Auror. Not this, not someone for people to use’.” Queenie pauses for effect. “I told ya, honey: he’s sweet on you.”

Tina reflects on this as her sister squeezes her one last time before putting space between them. “The boys are comin’,” she whispers. Tina turns her head just in time to watch Newt climb out of his case and bend to help Jacob. They both turn to the women and Queenie laughs before going to her man.

“You guys go on,” she says with an airy wave. Tina and Newt exchanged wry glances. The blonde stares at her beau for a moment before rolling her eyes. “Knock it off, Teenie—I got work tomorrow, it ain’t like that!” Then she grins. “But you can sleep in the case again, we don’t mind the privacy.”

Jacob turns red and bursts into a fit of sputtering. A mortified Tina takes Newt’s hand to drag him over to the case.

“We are leaving now!” She growls, and Queenie’s silvery ripple of laughter follows them down the ladder as they make good their escape.

*

Tina helps with the chores when Newt allows her free reign to tend to the gentler creatures. She recognizes this for the sign of trust that it is and marvels once more at how quickly her life has changed, and all for the better.

She experiences a single moment of sheer terror when she’s feeding the Mooncalf’s, but then one of them squirms under her hand for a pat and the fear recedes. The Niffler requests snuggles as well, and she gifts it with a transfigured silver leaf before moseying back to the center of the case and the shed, where she hopes Newt awaits her.

She swings open the door of the small building to find him washing up, dragging a damp flannel over his chest and arms. His braces hang slack around his hips, and she takes an unsteady breath when his scars flex and ripple in the low light. He turns curiously to smile at her, showing no hint of self-consciousness as he nonchalantly wipes himself down. If anything, his smile transforms into a smirk while she stares openly, admiring every imperfect inch of him until she recalls herself and awkwardly drops her eyes to the floor.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs warmly. “You may look, if you’d like, Tina.” He chuckles. “I simply can’t stand going to bed with dirt on my skin, especially if I’m going to be sharing my bed with a woman.” He pauses clumsily, and she can hear the slight tremor in his voice when he goes on. “Assuming, of course, that she wishes to spend the night with me.” He clears his throat.

Tina looks up into the scarred expanse of his back. He’s standing with his hands curled on the workbench, breathing in shaky draws as his fingers worry the ragged edge of the flannel. His strong shoulders flex subtly with each respiration until she unthinkingly reaches out to stroke a scar, feeling his breath catch at her touch.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” she says in a low voice. “Where else would I go?”

New sighs gustily when she curls her fingers around his arm and squeezes. “I’m not sure,” he finally admits. He looks at her from over his shoulder. “I guess I just thought, maybe...” He trails off and Tina tilts her head, curious and slightly alarmed. Newt reaches out to take her hand before turning with a crooked smile.

“I’m being daft,” he decides. “Don’t mind me, Tina.”

Tina lifts his hand to kiss his rough knuckles, pressing her lips against them until he sighs and relaxes. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s on your mind,” she whispers into his skin. “Didn’t you just tell me that the other day?”

“I _did_ say that,” he mumbles, and leans forward to kiss her forehead. Tina closes her eyes to focus on the press of his lips, then lifts her chin to allow him to claim her mouth. He kisses her sweetly as they lean against the workbench until his scent fills her nose when she hides her face in his shoulder.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” She asks eventually, once the case has quieted around them and his skin has dried. He fetches a deep sigh before easing her back to view at arm's length, humming thoughtfully in his throat before speaking.

“This morning,” he begins slowly. “Was it...” His voice warbles a little, causing him to clear his throat roughly. “I know you told me that you wanted to do that, but...I didn’t push you too far, did I?” His fingers worry against each other. “You _truly_ wanted it?”

Tina makes a gentle scoffing sound while leaning in to kiss an enticing patch of freckles on his shoulder. “Of course I wanted it,” she reassures. “You couldn’t tell?” Her tone is teasing but he still looks anxious, so she allows her small smile to fade as she tries to convey her seriousness. “ _Newt_. You said you wouldn’t push or proposition me, and you haven’t. You _didn’t_. If anyone should be worried about this, it’s me, because I pretty much said that we had to do those things in order for me to trust you.”

Newt chuckles while pulling her close. “Aren’t we a fine pair?” he whispers into her hair. Tina manages a weak laugh. He squeezes her before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Well, then.” He heaves a wet sigh. “Seems I was being ridiculous. Not the first time, surely won’t be the last.”

He glances at his basin. “I have to finish washing and then I think it’s time for sleep.” He eyes her carefully, and Tina watches as his gaze darkens and gains an indefinable weight. “I’m going to change,” he says in a low voice. “I’ll leave it up to you whether you remain here or go.” He breathes deeply. “I don’t mind either way, and there’s no shame in...in _seeing_ or being seen, Tina.”

Tina chews her bottom lip before reluctantly moving away. “I’ll go upstairs to wash and change,” she says with faint regret. “Then I’ll come back down and we can—um, we can go to bed. Together.” A pause as she looks up the ladder before returning her gaze to him. “Um, if you still want to go to bed. With me, I mean.”

“Of course,” Newt says simply, and offers his hand. Tina takes it and allows him to help her up the ladder. He watches her until she climbs out of the case, closing it gently behind her. Then she leans heavily against the wall to take a series of deep breaths until her knees stop trembling.

*

Tina returns to the case twenty minutes later, the sterile scent of her soap clashing with the earthy smell of animals and bitter herbs as she makes her way to the Arizona landscape. She draws short when she spots Newt, dressed in extravagantly striped pajamas with a Mandarin collar, putting the finishing touches on what appears to be a bed. One wide enough to comfortably accommodate them both, with a thick, plush-looking mattress and a veritable mountain of pillows. She _feels_ her eyelids grow heavy as she takes in the sight, before crossing over to him nearly at a jog.

“Newt!” She exclaims, gesturing to the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this?”

“I don’t, really,” he says awkwardly. “It’s just my army cot, Enlarged, and Transfigured. The mattress was originally a hammock so it may still feel a bit, er, _stringy_ , and the same goes for most of the rest of it.” He gestures weakly when Tina grins at him before hopping onto the bed. It bounces _luxuriously_ beneath her as she sighs and falls backward.

“Say what you want, Mr. Scamander,” she murmurs happily, “but this is _the berries_. Mercy Lewis, I feel like I could sleep for a whole week.” He climbs in beside her with a little more restraint while she wriggles over to clutch a pillow. He’s smiling when he tugs the blanket to their shoulders, and her fingers tangle with him as soon as he settles. He waves his other hand and the few electric lights go out, allowing them an unfettered view of the enchanted night sky sprawled above them.

“I’m glad you like it,” he whispers while the stars twinkle overhead. “I thought you’d be tired of sleeping in a hammock.”

He turns his head, and Tina catches her breath—his blue eyes are filled with starlight, with the full moon reflecting back at her from his pupil. _Artemis_ , she recalls distantly, _Goddess of the moon_. She reaches out to touch his cheek, and her fingers tremble against his skin minutely. _And Esther, representative of the stars_.

Tina moves eagerly toward him and he meets her halfway. They kiss bathed in starlight, losing their hands to hair and skin until they part to gaze adoringly at each other while their eyelids grow heavy. There they fall asleep, and when Dougal creeps over to tuck the blankets around their shoulders, neither of them stir.

*


	21. Chapter Twenty One

*

Tina is roused by a low cry from one of the neighboring habitats. She blinks her eyes open to find Newt awake and on his elbow, staring intently into the dark. He glances at her before tossing the blanket back, murmuring a quick, “Stay here, love,” before stumbling off into the dark. She squints after him until he’s a gray blur on the edge of her vision.

Tina gnaws her lip anxiously and is on the verge of following when he shuffles back, shaking his head and chuckling ruefully.

“Nothing to worry about,” he reassures her as he climbs into bed. He turns to kiss her gently while settling down. “This is my fault—it’s the Graphorn’s mating season, and I forgot to put up a sound-dampening spell before falling asleep.” He huffs in embarrassment. “Must remember not to make that mistake again.” He waves his hand and the air around the bed shimmers momentarily as he slides down between the sheets.

Tina giggles and ruffles his hair while she pulls him close. He makes a pleased sound and curls one arm beneath his head, slinging the other comfortably around her waist. He kisses her palm before sighing happily. “This is nice,” he whispers with a small smile.

“Isn’t it?” Tina asks with a grin. She scoots closer until her breasts touch his chest, and Newt raises an intrigued eyebrow. He’s still smiling when she captures his lips. They’re both aware of the moment when their kiss goes from sweetly playful to intent and serious, however. His hand moves to cup her jaw, and his eyes are dark and full of starlight when she finally pulls away.

“I know you’re worried about pushing me,” Tina says while kissing the tips of his fingers, “but I won’t be able to go back to sleep.” Newt hides his face in the pillow as she goes on. “I can think of a few things to keep us busy...if you’re willing.” Tina looks at him with equal measures of fear and hope, until he smiles gently and kisses her cheek.

“You are a wonder to me,” Newt murmurs while fingering a heavy strand of her hair. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have some time away from all that, Tina?” He kisses her chastely before leaning away to put some space between them. “I assure you, I can wait for as long as you need.”

Tina closes her eyes. “You’re leaving in a few days, aren’t you?” She opens them to watch him nod, and his throat clicks when he swallows. “Then maybe _I_ don’t want to wait, Newt. Especially because you likely won’t be coming back.” He looks pained so she strokes his hair soothingly. “No, it’s fine—I just don’t want to lose this opportunity while I have it.”

Newt covers her hand with his own while pressing his mouth to her inner wrist. “You wouldn’t be,” he says hoarsely. “I’ll go to the Ministry to finish my book, and then I’ll come back to you.” He exhales raggedly. “How could I not?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers as he shifts to kiss a path up her arm to her elbow. She makes a small, pleased sound before going on. “I just know that you don’t owe me anything, but I feel like I owe you _everything_.” She struggles against the tingles which threaten to override her ability to think. “Besides, how do I know you don’t promise to return to all your women?” It’s meant to be a tease, but his mouth stops its advance as he rolls to his knees.

“I don’t,” he says in a low voice and urges her upright until they’re facing each other. Her arms go around his shoulders automatically while his drape at her waist and she wonders once more that it feels so natural to be this close to him. “I never made a promise to return to any of them, and I made it clear from the start that my attentions were temporary. They all knew and expected me to leave, and our mutual understanding prevented things from getting uncomfortable at the end.”

He reaches up to brush her hair back and Tina leans into it, closing her eyes when relief floods her. “And you never made any such promise to me. You said you wouldn’t push or proposition, but you never said that this would be _temporary_.” He hums in agreement and she smiles. “You _are_ coming back.”

“Yes,” Newt says simply. Tina squeezes him, overcome by sheer relief. He holds her until the moment passes. She’s grinning broadly when they part, and he smiles back softly until she surges forward to kiss him deeply enough to drive all doubt away. She is panting when they finally separate, all traces of playful scoured away by simple, mouthless need.

Tina presses soft, exploratory, open-mouth kisses to his jaw and chin when the pressure gets to be too much. He makes a low sound, the vibration tingling through her lips as her fumbling hand trails along the buttons covering his chest. “Off,” she manages breathlessly. Their fingers meet somewhere in the middle until she hastily pushes away his pajama top to run eager palms over his textured skin. He makes another sensual sound when she presses her mouth to his Adam’s apple, tasting his pleasure.

Trembling arms tighten around her until they are pressed together from knee to chest. Newt produces a small groan as his head rolls back, and then she feels it: the hard ridge at the front of his pajamas, throbbing gently against her thigh and utterly _alien_ for all its familiarity. He realizes his state at the same time she does, for he freezes and gulps loudly.

“Um,” Newt says weakly and clears his throat. He moistens his lips as she stares at him, and tries again. “Ah. Tina, I’m sorry. It’s, er, I don’t have much control over it.” He gulps. “I wholly intend for tonight to be all about you—if you still wish to do anything, that is.” Roses bloom in his cheeks. “I understand if you don’t.”

Tina licks her lips as warmth flows through where they are pressed together. She buries her fingers in his hair and speaks against his mouth. “I still want to, but maybe I don’t want it to be all about me.” He gasps before she goes on. “Maybe I want it to be about both of us. Would that be okay?” She pecks him and his mouth subconsciously follows her, eyes glittering when their lips brush. “I want you to enjoy it, too. I want to know what it feels like to do this _together_.”

“My dear Tina,” he whispers. His hands drift over her shoulders to her ribs. She whines in the back of her throat when he tentatively brushes the sides of her breasts. Emboldened, Newt palms her through her nightgown to heft their slight weight, until her nipples go hard. He tweaks them gently before trailing his hands down the fabric-covered plane of her stomach to fan over her hips. Urging her head back, he covers the column of her neck and throat with small, scratchy kisses.

“Please take it off,” she gasps brokenly as he suckles the skin behind her ear, Newt breaks away long enough to gather her nightgown and tug it over her head, freeing her arms before his calloused hands reclaim her breasts, and wicked, tender lips ghost over her shoulders. Cool air meets overheated skin, and she erupts into goosebumps, nipples tingling. Tina moans then, low and deep in her throat. Newt sighs while a shiver works through him.

“That’s it, Tina” he murmurs approvingly and sucks tiny red marks on her sternum. He kisses the creamy underside of her breast before dragging his tongue over the curve of her nipple, only to pinch it between his lips. Tina arches into him, mouth falling open on a sharp exhale until he releases her with a groan to lavish her other breast.

A humid mouth maps her chest while rough hands glide gently over her skin. Tina breathes carefully through each new sensation, occasionally biting back sharp pants and moans. Newt sinks before her to mouth at her slightly rounded stomach and kisses the cup of her navel before dipping lower. His lips briefly flit over the very top of her mound before he drags the tip of his tongue up the length of her body, stopping just short of her mouth while Tina trembles in anticipation.

“May I taste you again?” Newt asks between small, unhurried kisses. Tina groans and nods. He dips his tongue between her lips for a moment before placing a line of kisses over her cheek. “I need to hear you say it, love,” he reminds her gently. She somehow manages to gasp her assent through the fog of _want_ and _need_ he’s invoked within her, her limbs tingling.

She feels him smile against her shoulder and has only a moment to wonder before tender hands are easing her onto the mattress. “Lay back,” he whispers gently, “and I’ll take care of you.” He huffs a breath of laughter when her exhale ends on a wheeze before kissing a languid path down her body.

Newt settles onto his elbows, and Tina raises her head to watch him through half-lidded eyes. His attention is entirely focused on her core, his hands petting her inner thighs as he gently spreads them, opening her up for his frank appraisal. She tries very hard not to feel self-conscious as his fingers curl into her skin. He purses his lips with an approving nod and meets her eyes.

“You are as lovely here as you are everywhere else, Tina,” he reassures and drops a molten kiss onto her mound. “Thank you for letting me know you like this.”

Thinking is near impossible so Tina speaks from someplace far more ancient. “I should be thanking _you_ ,” she gasps. He flicks his tongue against her without breaking eye contact, making her tense and hiss before she can go on. “I really didn’t believe it could be this good.” He smiles and drops his head to kiss a little lower, still short of where she wants him but _closer_. She tangles her fingers in his hair, suddenly nervous. “Will you catch me again?”

“Always,” Newt answer promptly, and the gust of his breath over her heated center makes her shudder. He pursues his lips to direct a gentle stream of air over her until she cries out. Her hands fly to cover her face in momentary embarrassment until he reaches up to ease them away, guiding one of her hands to tangle with his while the other cups the nape of his neck.

Star-filled eyes gleam at her from the juncture of her thighs until she calms. Newt doesn’t avert his gaze when he finally dips his chin to taste her.

Tina joyously surrenders to sensation, drowning in bliss as his tongue slides and presses and flits through her folds. He cradles her legs as he works at her entrance, the occasional happy sigh slipping from his lips as he savors her. The pleasant friction is still excitingly _new_ , and she feels herself draw tight against him until he slides his mouth away, granting her temporary reprieve.

Newt suckles and nibbles her outer lips until her thighs relax. He flicks his eyes over her briefly, weighing her expression before his tongue finds the intensely sensitive bud hidden in her folds. Tina’s vision goes hazy when he focuses his efforts there, his eyes gleaming in the low light. Tina gasps her gratification as her hips begin to move on their own, a slow primal roll that has Newt groaning until he uses the pressure of his arms to loosely direct their rhythm.

His tongue finds pay-dirt then. Tina hisses and jerks her head back with a deep groan while pulling him closer, half-mindless with the need for increased sensation. He wraps his lips around her as he redirects his effort, his mouth now seeking on her behalf. Newt loses focus on his arms and the relaxed pressure on her hips allows her to _rock_ , until he stiffens his tongue to allow her to take what she needs.

Her mouth falls open with a sultry moan when he _flicks_ just so and she is released, the liquid heat of orgasm coursing through her.

Tina returns to herself with his head pillowed on her thigh, his hand tracing senseless patterns into her skin.

“I think you liked that,” he whispers warmly and drops a kiss onto her knee before laying beside her.

She rises to her elbow to kiss him, where she can taste her mustiness on his lips and tongue. Intrigued, she laps at it until he gasps and draws away with a teasing grin.

“Merlin’s beard, Tina,” he murmurs in wonder as she reaches up to cup his cheek. He’s painted in starlight, and like this, she can admire the bronze cast of his skin, the thick smattering of his freckles, and the quicksilver flecks of countless scars. She kisses his jaw and neck before murmuring into the shell of his ear.

“Can I touch you too?” She asks, and he makes a small sound while nuzzling his face against her cheek. She nibbles the lobe of his ear to hear his breath hitch until he squirms where they press together before squeezing her hand. His voice, when it comes, is low and choppy.

“Yes, Tina,” he manages, only to gasp throatily when she pushes his shoulders until he lays flat. She sits up to swing a leg over his waist, straddling his toned stomach and smiling down at him triumphantly.

Her smile turns into a grin when she leans forward to trail kisses down the line of his throat before pressing her lips against his fluttering pulse. His eyes drift closed with a sigh. She moves on, guiding her tongue over his well-defined chest until he produces a low groan, the smile slowly slipping off her face as she focuses more intently on him.

Newt’s skin tastes like salt and dirt, with a rich undertone that she categorizes as essentially _him_. She trails damp kisses between his pectorals as one of his hand's tangles in her hair. She flicks her tongue over his flat nipples to hear him hum contentedly, before shifting her weight onto his thighs and kissing down his abdomen. She mouths around his navel and over to his side, delighted to find the barest hint of a love-handle there while leaving vivid red marks where she sucks.

A sparse line of coppery hair trails away from his navel and Tina hesitates over it long enough for Newt to lift his head. He touches her face gently and hums in his throat, blinking hard to clear his vision. “You don’t have to do _anything_ you don’t want to do,” he reminds her, voice infinitely tender. He pinches his lips together and sits up in one smooth, gliding motion to kiss her mouth. “I’d be just as perfectly happy holding you for the remainder of the night.”

Tina hums thoughtfully while running her fingers along the edge of his pajama pants. She looks down at the hard lines of his scar-spangled body, _desire_ thrumming in every hollow and shadowed place inside her, before kissing his forehead and jaw. “I _want_ to keep going,” she decides before hooking her finger beneath the waistband. His breath stutters until he swallows loudly, eyes bright.

“Then...do whatever you want,” he replies with unabashed honesty. Tina kisses him hard while gently pushing him back onto the mattress. He goes, eyes never leaving hers when she swallows thickly and her trembling fingers tug at the thin string holding up his pants. The bow gives easily and she pulls, loosening them enough to slip a hand inside. She brushes against his skin and quirks an eyebrow as his face infuse with color.

_No underwear,_ Tina thinks a little wryly. _Well. Someone was certainly feeling optimistic!_

She ventures deeper, brushing past the deep v-shape of his groin until the tips of her fingers find wiry hair. Her hand retreats from that in favor of smoothing over his skin, dragging along the flange of his hip before hooking into his pants and tugging gently. He lifts his narrow hips to help her, and Tina slides his bottoms off with averted eyes before climbing over him for a kiss.

He goes to his elbows to meet her halfway, cupping her jaw as they kiss sweetly. Tina climbs over him, her molten core pressed against his stomach as his hands map her midsection before coming to moor on her breasts. Newt sighs happily as he squeezes her until she rolls her head back with a soft moan to expose her throat and he sets upon it with gentle lips.

Newt moves with her as she slides further down, nearly into his lap before she catches herself by tensing her thighs. The move sparks something deep within her; his forced huff of breath makes her squeeze her eyes shut until his hand finds and kneads her hip. She relaxes against him in increments as he nuzzles her skin until she registers his hardness pressed against her bottom and the coiled strength of his thighs. He sighs shakily when she touches her fingertips to his jaw before working a hand between them.

Newt gasps and tenses as she wraps her fingers around his length. Curious, she squeezes to get a feel for his girth before stroking him once, pleased with the way he trembles against her. Tina gathers her resolve before leaning back to inspect him visually, only to delight at how pleasantly average he is—except for the freckles, which she should have anticipated yet still surprise her. She grins and voices a small, relieved giggle. Newt cracks his eyes open to stare at her in disbelief.

“Surely you know that laughing at my mediocrity is _not done_ ,” he says, mock-stern, and her giggle turns into a delighted, full-throated laugh. She sways into him as he catches and holds her, until the laughter has run its course and she can only smile, overjoyed and _free_ in new, heady ways.

“You’re wonderfully _normal_ ,” she breathes happily. He grins then, sunny and open, before touching her face and gently claiming her lips. Their shared kiss reignites their passion, their smiles slipping away in favor of hunger until she scoots forward to press against where he juts proudly.

“Do you want me?” Tina asks in a heated whisper. His swallow is very loud in the thick silence, and he requires a few attempts before he’s able to answer.

“Yes.” It’s little more than a ragged sigh, voice raspy with desire.

Tina exhales sharply and presses her face into his neck as she settles _lower_ , breathtakingly close to joining them entirely. “Will you have me?” she clarifies. She knows he understands the precise gravity of _what_ she’s asking because he goes very, very still for the barest moment.

Newt jerks back to life to kiss her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. His mouth trails moisture and stubble until his lips are against the shell of her ear and she holds her breath. “Yes,” he says in that same raspy whisper. “Yes, Tina—I _will_ have you.”

“Oh, good,” she gasps. “That’s good, Newt.”

Tina exhales in shaky relief and then it’s only a matter of shifting slightly, his hand coming down to gently guide her as she sinks onto him, voicing a sigh that seems to originate from her very foundation. She clings to his shoulders as they pant together, tremors chasing through their frames while she adjusts to the invasion, until she meets his eyes and, with a soft gasp, musters herself enough to move.

She quickly finds a rhythm, despite feeling clumsy at first; the angle of her thrusts is imperfect and she’s never done _this_ before. Then Newt lifts and shifts her backward as her arms go around his shoulders, his hands clinging to her hips as she rocks against him. The new angle improves them as she quickly discovers that _rolling_ her hips hits upon something intensely sensual and unknown deep inside her. She indulgently chases this new feeling, rendered temporarily selfish as her mouth falls open and she breathes her pleasure.

Newt’s hands never leave her skin as she experiments, trailing over her sides to cup her breasts, drifting down her sternum to span her waist before calloused fingers ghost the length of her spine. Tina rolls her head on a moan, exposing her throat without thought, and Newt’s mouth finds the snowy skin there to lave and rub pink with his stubble.

“Beautiful,” he sighs beneath her ear. Tina stops rocking against him to look him in the eye. She drinks in his expression until she leans forward and kisses him, and he twines his fingers through hers to press their palms together. She starts to move again, intently watching his face to delight in the way his eyelids flutter, the way he falters as his lips part on a rough exhale.

Heat seeps into where they are joined as Tina recognizes the same tingling build-up she experienced both times he used his tongue on her. But she’s tired now, calves tense and thighs trembling with fatigue, and she hisses her frustration as she slows. Newt kisses her deeply while holding her hips, flicking his tongue out to taste the edge of her jaw before speaking into her skin.

“You’re tired,” he whispers, and she nods breathlessly. “Tina, may I—could I—”

He squeezes where he grips her and she makes an eager sound of assent. Newt kisses her as he gathers himself—then he holds her close and uncoils his legs, easing her down onto the mattress until she’s flat on her back and he’s hovering uncertainly. She reaches up to embrace the rack of his shoulders when he tips his forehead against hers.

“Is this alright?” he asks around soft kisses, and Tina nods happily. She isn’t sure what to do with her legs until he shows her, guiding one loosely around his waist while hooking the other beneath his elbow. His free hand tangled with hers while pressing their lips together, his breath hitching when he rolls his hips into her.

Tina immediately recognizes the building heat focused where he sinks into her, but the accompanying pressure is new. She breaks his kiss to keen in her throat as the tension builds, her fingernails digging bloodless crescents into his skin. He allows her a moment to gasp her adoration for him before reclaiming her mouth in a blistering kiss. She inhales sharply as he seals them together, using the arm supporting her leg to rock her pelvis upwards, allowing his slide within her to lengthen.

Another minute shift and suddenly she’s poised on the edge, mouth falling open in awe. A gasp works up and out of her throat while his hot, open mouth presses to her cheek and jaw. “Tina,” he murmurs breathlessly, “let it happen.”

She watches as his eyes narrow to slits while he rolls his hips against her steadily. Her fingernails seek traction over his slick back as her body draws bow-tight beneath him until he dips his head to take a tingling nipple into his mouth, sharp teeth ringing it with a low groan. It’s the final push she needs. She cries out when her release crashes through her as inexorably as the tide, washing her away on waves of pleasure until she buoys serenely to shore, damp and sated.

Tina floats, there in the ring of his arms, until reality returns to soft focus. She’s greeted by his broad smile when he kisses her sweaty face before pulling back to look at her adoringly. His gaze sweeps from her chin to her forehead before settling on her eyes, where his grin transmutes into something soft and secret.

“I don’t have to ask if you enjoyed that,” he marvels. “I could feel it, and it’s all over your face.” He dips his head to kiss her and when he does, the hard spur lodged within Tina twitches against her still-sensitive flesh. Understanding fills her.

“You didn’t finish,” she whispers and very carefully chooses to attach no significance to that realization.

“No,” he says softly. “I wanted to watch you, and I wanted you to be selfish in this, Tina.” He nuzzles her face. “There’ll be opportunity enough for that next time, I think. Presuming there is a next time.”

She reaches up to press trembling fingers into his cheek until he turns his head to kiss them. “Could you, though?” She asks, and he quirks a brow at her. “I mean, if I wanted you to finish—now—would you be able to?”

“Of course,” he breathes, and nibbles her index finger and thumb. He kisses them wetly before tasting the flange of her collarbone. Tina closes her eyes against the onslaught of sensation, temporarily distracted.

“Then please, Newt—finish for me.” She breathes this into the air above their heads, and he exhales sharply before looking at her. She meets his eyes. “You wanted to watch me, right? Well—now I want to watch you.” She struggles onto her elbow and cups his face. “ _Please_.”

The battle wages across his features and for the moment, desire wins over altruism. He surges forward to kiss her as he directs both her thighs to buttress his waist. Newt rests his weight on his forearms and dips his head to pepper her chest and neck when he resumes where he left off—gentle rolling movements giving way to shorter, sharper thrusts designed to usher in his own release. Eyes wide with renewed delight, Tina thrills in his hedonism while kneading the skin at the small of his back before trailing her fingers the length of his spine.

“Tina,” he husks, and she meets his eyes. He smiles faintly as a trembling hand pushes her wild hair back, before pressing his face against hers with a sigh. “ _Tina, Tina, Tina,_ ” he chants with the reverence of prayer, never breaking eye contact. She reaches up to pet the nape of his neck as he shudders against her, his refined movements losing cohesion as he jitters apart.

“It’s alright, Newt,” she breathes into his skin. “I’ll catch you, too.”

Newt moans, a low, masculine sound. Tina closes her eyes in triumph. Another shudder works through him when she buries her fingers in his hair to tug gently, driven by blind intuition. His mouth finds hers before he yanks away with a gasp. His hips ratchet up their intensity for a moment, adding a twist at the apex of his thrust that makes her buck and moan until he purrs in the back of his throat.

Tina murmurs his name lovingly, encouragingly, when he jolts. The hand not lost in his hair cups his cheek and directs his mouth to hers one last time, where they kiss deeply until his whole body trembles. Then, gloriously, Newt sighs her name and presses his face into her neck, shuddering to a ragged halt as his warmth fills her.

Tina strokes his skin and pushes his sweaty hair back to whispers to him comfortingly. He sags against her before catching himself, dark eyes taking in the tangled length of her before he collapses at her side, chest heaving. She rolls to curl against him. He kisses the top of her head with a sated sigh as a small, unbelieving smile spreads across her face.

“I owe you an apology,” she whispers, and he hums questioningly. Embarrassed, she ducks her head and goes on. “Sorry—I didn’t think it would be like that. I mean, I read that it _could_ be, but I guess I didn’t believe it. Not for someone like me.” She presses her palm against his chest, feeling his heart pound. He covers her hand with his own larger, rougher one to squeeze her fingers.

“I’m glad you were able to experience it,” Newt pants into her hair. Then his lips quirk into a smirk. “Especially with me.” She giggles as he forces open his half-lidded eyes to gaze at her adoringly. A heavy hand smooths over her hair before trailing down her back to her hip. He exhales slowly and wraps around her while Tina hides her grin.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” she murmurs sincerely. She squirms uncomfortably when his seed trickles out of her and reaches for her wand—only to freeze when a thought occurs. Momentarily panicked, she hides it as best she can before asking, in as nonchalant a voice as she can manage: “Hey, Newt? Um, that potion of yours—you remembered to take it, right?”

He exhales slowly. “Every three months and I label the vials with their intended date. I took it, Tina, have no fear.” He kisses her head before extracting himself gently, apparently recovered enough to move. Starlight ripples across his skin as he crosses the small space to the shed, only to reemerge moments later with a damp flannel. Tina watches him go, unabashedly admiring the play of starlight and shadows over his compact form. He blushes slightly when he returns, but doesn’t hide from her when he sits on her side of the bed.

“Come here,” he says softly. Gentle hands part her legs to dab at the mess left behind, cleaning her up without magic. He does a careful but thorough job of it, pressing a warm kiss to the crease of her thigh when he finishes before sitting up and tossing the cloth aside. “All better now?” He asks, and she nods, unable to speak past the unexpected lump in her throat.

Newt climbs into bed, and strong arms pull her against his warm body. Tina sinks into him, sudden exhaustion dragging her down. She pillows her head on his chest with an approving sigh, and her eyes drift closed as he tugs the blanket over them both.

“Can we stay like this?” she asks fuzzily. He answers in the affirmative with a breath of laughter. She smiles her thanks as his arm tightens securely around her, and the steady beating of his heart follows her into sleep.

*


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

*

Tina wakes him just before dawn.

The privacy spell wears off sometime in the night, the bellowing of the Graphorns rousing her to a vibrant skyline and a sleeping magizoologist. She rolls over to observe him while pressing tender kisses to his jaw and face until sleep-filled eyes open to implore her to stop. She doesn’t, and it isn’t overlong before lazy kisses turn intent, and light touches grow _heavy_.

They move together, on their sides and facing each other. The old Tina would have called this impossible, yet the new her is discovering that her Newt is _strong_ —and not just physically. He kisses her mouth and presses his palm to her racing heart; she clings to his shoulders, lest she be swept away on a wave of pure _adoration_ , and breathes words into his skin (later, she will reflect on those words and the declaration inherent to them, realizing how incredibly apropos they are; for now, she just wants to keep him close).

They doze afterward, and Tina is vaguely aware of him moving about restlessly. She feels him leave the bed, but she’s suspended in the twilight state between sleep and wakefulness and knows only that she won’t need to look very far to find him.

Then she turns over and sleeps for real, while the case pulses with vitality around her and the artificial sun climbs high in the sky.

*

She finds him behind the shed, dressed for the day and bent over a large table while Pickett chatters on his shoulder. The bowtruckle spots her first, chirping a greeting when she pads over in bare feet, her nightgown swishing around her ankles. Newt turns to greet her with a kiss, eyes quickly scanning her face before his own splits into a crooked smile. “Did you sleep well?” he asks. Tina’s answering smile matches his.

“Yes, very,” she murmurs and spots a small love-bite just beneath the hinge of his jaw. _I put that there_ , she thinks, and allows her smile to become a full-fledged grin. Newt, reading her expression, touches the mark while ducking his head.

“Your sister and Jacob had...a fair bit of entertainment at my expense this morning,” he admits bashfully. Her delighted laughter stands separate from the background cacophony of the case, reverberating off the walls to sink into their skin. Newt smiles at her from across the space between them, and she recalls her almost-prayer of earlier, the way he’d held her so close. The way he’d _looked_ at her. Her cheeks infuse with remembered passion.

She casts about for a distraction and spots the table and wheelbarrow. “What are you doing?” she asks, unsubtly changing the subject. Newt clears this throat before answering.

“Securing Jacob’s funds,” he responds easily. Tina squints at the pile of shards. She touches one gingerly, hefting its surprising weight before turning skeptical eyes on him. He fingers the mark on his neck almost reflexively before gesturing to his task.

“Occamy eggshells are made of pure silver, and I have a more than adequate supply. I shall bring these to the wizards bank to exchange for coin, to be converted into Mug—er, _No-Maj_ currency. Money which will then be given to Jacob.” He sighs. “After that, I shall have to be a proper patron and inquire into his progress every month until the bakery opens.” He grins. “I don’t think writing him will be much of a chore, however.”

Newt watches her from the corner of his eye before tentatively stepping closer. He puts his arms around her carefully, as if expecting her to reject him or flee. She sighs at the welcome contact and presses her cheek against his shoulder. “New York has proved a more fruitful trip than I could ever have imagined,” he murmurs thoughtfully, and Tina gets the sense he’s no longer talking about the bakery. “I don’t know how I’ll bear to leave.”

“You don’t have to go,” she says immediately. “You could stay, you know. We wouldn’t mind.” She glances at him briefly before looking away. “I’m sure everything you need to finish your book can be found here, and you can keep an eye on the progress of Jacob’s business.” _Please don’t leave me_ is on the tip of her tongue, but she knows she could no more say it than she could erase the actions of her past.

Newt stares into her face for a long moment before gently touching her cheek. “Would that I could,” he says softly, “but I have a commitment to my Ministry and my publisher, and for now those _must_ take priority.” He hesitates, seemingly weighing his words, while Tina holds her breath. “However, after my manuscript is complete, I suppose I—I could ask for leave to return to America.” A beat. “Finish the things I need to do here, which would give me ample time for...other things.”

_Me_ , she thinks and closes her eyes in relief.

“Just come back,” Tina whispers boldly before brushing her lips over his in the lightest kiss. “Promise me you’ll return, and I’ll wait for you.”

“I promise,” he says immediately. She hears him swallow, and opens her eyes to find him watching her seriously. “I _will_ come back to you,” he repeats, and it has the ring of truth.

Tina sighs happily while tilting their foreheads together, where they stay until Pickett begins to chirp in alarm, the workbench full of eggshells forgotten. They separate with a shared smile so Tina can help him count and weight the silvery shards until her stomach growls and her feet grow cold.

Then Newt leads her out of the case to breakfast, his warm hand never leaving hers.

*

The New York branch of Gringotts is located somewhere on Wall Street. Tina helps him find his way.

“Have you a vault there?” He asks when the narrow street gives way to a wide, alabaster avenue. Tina frowns over at him.

“No,” she says shortly. A quick look around, then: “Women like me...well. Women who do what I _used_ to do are way too poor for such fancy things as _vaults_ , and the whole concept of saving money is ridiculous.” She frowns. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything, anyways.”

Newt stops short and shakes his head quickly before rushing to catch up to her. “Not relevant?” He questions breathlessly. “Tina, how is Jacob supposed to pay you, and how are you supposed to keep your money secure without putting it into a trusted financial institution?”

“Same way I always have,” she whispers. “The slit in my mattress.” Newt stares blankly. She licks her lips nervously before rolling her eyes. “Come on, Newt. Don’t act so _surprised_. You’re the one who claimed to treat those other women right—surely you know how it was with them.”

“I do know,” he rejoins immediately. “I know that their madam took care of their financial needs and in many countries, they had their own financial ties. I just didn’t realize how extremely poor the situation here was by comparison.” He shifts his hold on the case while watching her from the corner of his eye. Tina, suddenly exhausted, sighs deeply and bows her head.

“You’re right,” she says tiredly. “It is bad. What I do—what I used to do—it’s illegal in _both_ worlds, Newt. Even talking to you about it feels wrong, like you’re either going to arrest me or turn me in.” She exhales shakily. “I can’t promise you that I’ll ever get out of _that_ mentality.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he whispers while looking around quickly before brushing his lips against her cheek. “I’m just asking you to...well, I suppose I’m asking you to trust us. To trust _me_. I won’t see you return to that life, Tina. You’ve come to mean...far too much for that.”

_And there it is_ , she thinks. _He just said it, but that’s as far as we’ll get...for now._

She meets his eyes and the truth in _his_ shines down at her. She smiles helplessly and he returns the gesture, though a bit more shakily. Another quick look around and he kisses her lips, lingering for a moment before stepping back with a grin.

“Come on,” he says softly. “We’ve still a task to attend to, and no time—yet—for declarations.”

He turns his face toward the crowd and Tina, wholly charmed and smiling gently, takes his hand and leads the way.

*

The Occamy shells fetch a far higher return than either of them dared hoped. They leave the bank with a significant sum of money and a large, shiny brass key. The money, Newt tucks carefully into his pocket and wards against theft or loss. The key, Tina marvels over for the length of three blocks before she finally slings it around her neck, the smile never quite leaving her face.

“Your own secure box,” Newt murmurs proudly. Tina beams at him. “Have you any specific wish for the rest of the day?” he inquires, and she shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I’m so nervous that I can’t think. Can we please just get the money home? I’ll feel better once I know it’s safe.”

“Of course, love,” and at some point, they must have joined hands because he squeezes hers reassuringly. Tina looks down in faint amazement. Newt hoists an amused eyebrow while she dissolves into giggles. “You should pay better attention, Miss Goldstein,” he scolds gently, and she puts her face in her hands.

“I can’t help it,” she blushes. “I’m just so...happy. For Jacob, for Queenie, for...for me, even.”

Newt stops them both, right there in the middle of the crowd, by dint of taking her shoulders. She turns to look into his face and finds him intense and serious. “That’s good,” he says in a low, rich voice. “Jacob and Queenie deserve happiness, of course, but Tina—of all the people I’ve met in my life, I think _you_ deserve it most of all.” He breathes carefully, and she can see how much it pains him to be so explicit. He wraps his arms around her while resting his chin on her shoulder. “Never think otherwise,” he assures. Tina closes her eyes while breathing in the earthy scent of his coat.

“I won’t,” she promises, and there’s really nothing else to say. He nods once before releasing her, and Tina threads their fingers together as they resume their walk home, a new understanding between them.

*

Newt hands over the money with a flourish and Jacob _balks_.

“You said you’d help me get a _loan_ ,” the man protests while mopping his forehead with a faded handkerchief. “Newt, this is—it’s too much, guy. You gotta understand, I love the thought but I can’t just take your money!”

“You can, though,” Newt says mulishly. “Jacob, this is better than a loan because I am officially your patron. This is not a hand-out, nor is it charity; you will pay me back over time, even if it’s only one Sickle per month. I assure you, my interest rates are far better than any you could have gotten at a bank, even with pure silver as collateral.”

Queenie and Tina intently watch the proceedings, as Jacob sweats and shifts uncomfortably and Newt stands surprisingly steadfast. The fair-haired sister eventually steps forward to place a delicate hand on the shorter man’s shoulders.

“He’s right, honey,” she says softly and flicks her eyes toward Newt. “The bank would’a robbed ya, and even silver wasn’t a guarantee. This way, the only person you have to worry about paying back is a _friend_ , and he ain’t gonna hurt or threaten ya for it.” She smiles for Jacob, who blinks and sighs before relaxing. Queenie squeezes his shoulder. “Besides, now you can open that much quicker—there’s enough money there for that special oven you wanted and everything!”

“You’re right, doll,” Jacob finally agrees with a sigh. Queenie smiles purely. He turns to the other man and sketches out a quick salute before allowing his kindly, broad face to stretch into a smile. “I guess I owe ya, Newt,” he admits and claps him on the back. Newt endures this surprisingly well, only shifting slightly from foot to foot before catching himself.

“It’s really no trouble,” he murmurs bashfully, and every person in the room, each one of them his _friend_ , hides their smirks and instead pull him back into their orbit.

Tina steps close enough to place a gentle hand on his arm. He sighs deeply and relaxes when she kisses the back of his head. “You’re a good man, Newton Scamander,” she whispers directly in his ear and pretends not to notice his small shiver. Then, louder and for the benefit of everyone in the room: “I think it’s time to eat. Who’s hungry?”

As it turns out, they all are.

*

Newt retreats to his case after lunch, warmed from within by the regard of the people who have claimed him as one of their own, but nonetheless breathing a sigh of relief at the temporary return of his cherished solitude. Tina, sensing his need for space, remains upstairs to help Queenie with laundry, and Newt considers it one more reason to keep her close to his heart.

_As if you need another_ , he thinks and allows himself to smile. He suddenly recalls the silky texture and flavor of her skin, the scent of her hair, and a much more _primal_ emotion comes to the fore, something with sex and protectiveness and ownership all wrapped into one. _It’s not love_ , he sternly reminds himself. _You’re too old for such foolishness; remember what happened with Leta._

Fire sufficiently dampened, Newt shakes himself and sets about his intended tasks. The first thing he does is check the Graphorns, to find the calf and the yearling curled together in sleep while their parents butt each other and grunt. Pleased, Newt makes a careful mental note to check the female for signs of pregnancy in a few weeks before moving on to the Fwooper.

He spends happy hours wrapped in domestic tasks: shoring up spell-work and strengthening protective and environmental charms; reinforcing by hand the wooden skeleton of the case and tying down things that could be displaced by long days at sea; finally, checking all his supplies to ensure adequate amounts of everything for the trip to come.

His practical pen is clamped firmly between his teeth, a foot-long list dangling from his fingers when Tina finally puts in an appearance. He sends her an absent smile before putting aside the contaminated jar of Neem leaves and setting the list on his workbench, which is even more chaotic than usual with his ingredients stores spread over it. Tina arches a curious brow and leans against the wall while crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you going to be down here all night?” She asks. He frowns.

“Is it terribly late?” Newt wonders around the pen. He hastily removes the obstruction from his mouth before speaking again, ducking his head shyly while she smirks. “I tend to lose track of time when I get involved in work, and I didn’t mean to neglect you or your sister for—”

Tina moves to place a slender finger against his lips. He cuts himself off, going slightly cross-eyed to look at her before relaxing with a sigh. He raises a hand to cover her own, cradling her wrist before kissing each finger and resting it against his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he says softly. Tina reveals her hidden dimples.

“Don’t be,” she says softly. “It’s only supper-time. I came down to get you to eat—I figured you’d be hungry by now.” As if on cue, his stomach growls loudly, causing her shoulders to tremble with a giggle. “And I was right!”

Newt rolls his eyes playfully and sets aside his pen. “Seems you were,” he agrees and wraps his fingers around her elbow. “Aren’t you a clever girl.” He kisses her temple as she leads them toward the ladder. “What are we having, anyway?”

“Jacob cooked,” she says easily. “Something with meat and potatoes—Cottage pie, I think he called it, but I didn’t see them make a pie crust.”

“There’s no crust on a Cottage pie,” Newt corrects her gently and squeezes her arm when she blushes before helping her out of the case. “Truthfully, I didn’t think it was an American sensibility, though I’m happy to eat it. It’s been _years_.”

“He said he learned to make it overseas. He even put beef in it, Newt. He used a few cents from the bakery money, but he didn’t think you’d mind. After all, I’d say today calls for a celebration, what with Jacob getting his bakery and my opening an account like a proper woman—wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course,” Newt murmurs and kisses the top of her head as he pulls out a chair for her to sit.

The food, unsurprisingly, is delicious, and there’s enough for them all to go back for seconds. He feels slightly gluttonous when he indulges in dessert, but Jacob’s pastries are not to be skipped, and the festive atmosphere seduces him. After the food is finished and the meal is cleared, Newt debates only a moment before Summoning a jug of his preferred Portuguese wine and distributing generous glasses all around.

“To Jacob’s assured success,” he toasts, only slightly embarrassed when all their attention swivels to him. Tina’s remarkable eyes never leave his as they drink deeply and share grins all around. The warm glow of the evening doesn’t abate, and while the girls don’t have a Victrola or even a wireless, they make up for it by dancing enthusiastically anyways, spinning around and around to fill the tiny space with laughter.

Then Queenie and Tina fortify their nerves with another glass of heady wine before singing their school song—slowly. Hauntingly, almost, each soft note set aglow by the light of the candles. Newt realizes absently that Jacob is enraptured by Queenie, but he himself is bewitched by the dark-haired woman with the slightly nasal but _lovely_ voice. She attempts a high note that wavers but does not crack, much like she and her spirit, and he stares in open admiration while something ancient, yet warm and _patient_ blooms in his chest to spread throughout his body and limbs, clear to the tips of his fingers.

Newt continues to stare, even after the girls are finished and Jacob and Queenie have drifted away. Tina stares back—lips parted and cheeks flushed pink from wine and exertion. They stay that way until Queenie giggles and Jacob beams, effectively breaking the spell. Blushing deeply, Newt fumble to drain the remains of his glass while the other couple urges him and Tina away.

“Go,” Queenie says airily. “Beat it. Go do...whatever it is you plan on doing.” She drops a wink in Newt direction, and heat fills his cheeks. “Have fun, and we’ll see you two tomorrow.” Jacob’s booming laughter fills the room, and Newt concedes defeat when Tina takes his hand to lead him away with as much dignity as possible.

“Come on,” she says in a throaty voice. “I think they want to be alone and I...I want to be alone with you.”

He opens his mouth to say, _but I still have things to do_ , but one glance at her half-lidded eyes changes his mind. He can’t find it in him to resist her pull, so he kisses her fully and allows her to pry open the lid. “After you, my dear,” he says with an expansive gesture and she, smirking, drags him down after her.

*

Their feet have barely touched the ground when she’s on him. Tina’s arms go around his neck and her nails gently rake his scalp as she kisses him—unexpectedly soft and without demand, breathing together as she samples the wine on his teeth and tongue. Newt sighs and directs them backward until he’s pinned against his workbench by her body, welcoming her slightly dominant stance while encouraging her to take the lead.

Tina’s mouth eventually drifts away from his, allowing them both to breathe. Newt tilts his forehead against hers while burying his fingers in her hair, enjoying the feel of warm, heavy silk between his callouses. “My Tina,” he whispers unthinkingly into her skin and feels her smile even through the tweed and linen of his clothes.

“My Newt,” she rejoins softly. He sighs in contentment while wrapping his arms around her shoulders to pull her close, inhaling her clean scent. Newt drops kisses onto the top of her head until she makes a soft sound while tilting her face up to his.

“How long? Until you have to leave, I mean?” Tina knows, but she wants to hear it from his mouth.

Newt squeezes his eyes shut in momentary pain before fishing in his waistcoat to retrieve his watch. He flips it open and squints. “Early morning of the day after tomorrow,” he manages through a tight throat and swallows thickly. “Though, it’ll be _tomorrow_ sooner than I’d like.”

Tina sighs sadly while kissing his throat, lips hovering over the precise spot his heart flutters beneath his skin. “And there’s no changing it?” She asks without much hope for change. “No chance for you to stay here to do what you need to do?”

Newt’s hands frame her face, gently holding her cheeks as he locks their eyes. “No,” he says in a patient whisper. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way for me to change my ticket, and I must return to the Ministry at my pre-arranged time.” He closes his eyes in obvious pain. “Upon reaching England, I will make haste to complete the final draft of my manuscript, submit it for publishing and then...I will return to New York. To you.” He opens his eyes, mellow gold in the flickering lamplight of the shed. “Tina, I swear it.”

Tina sighs, her eyes prickling with reaction. A calloused thumb sweeps gently beneath them before lips that she’s come to _cherish_ press into her forehead. “It’s late,” he rumbles. “We should go to bed.” He draws back to look her wholly in the face. “To sleep, nothing more. I would like to hold you tonight, if I may.”

Her eyes sting and threaten to overflow, but she bravely blinks away her tears before nodding. “Yes, of course. Please, Newt.”

He nods as his jaw flexes. Then he ensures Pickett is tucked securely into his leafy nest before opening the door to the shed. “Come on, then,” he says gently. Tina allows herself to be led back to the defunct Thunderbird enclosure—to the bed she’s come to associate with him, and the security of his arms.

_You won’t cry,_ she tells herself sternly as she strips down to nothing and climbs between the sheets. He does the same on the other side as they press together between cool linen. Newt wraps himself around her from behind, arms slung about her midsection as he presses his face into the back of her neck. “I could sleep like this every night,” he says with the barest sigh, already half-asleep. Tina squeezes her eyes shut.

_You won’t cry,_ she reminds herself. Still, she does, a little, and he shifts in his sleep to soothe her until they both sink into slumber—where her dreams are troubled, and though she sleeps in the ring of his arms, she feels utterly alone.

*


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

*

The charmed sky shows the barest edge of pink when he wakes, earlier than he would have liked but knowing immediately that he’s up for the day. Newt blinks the grit out of his eyes and pushes his hair back before turning, carefully, to take in his sleeping companion.

Tina is on her side facing him, blankets pulled to her chest as she dozes. She’s incredibly peaceful in repose, dark eyes closed over dreams with the inky spill of her hair tumbled against his pillow. The urge to reach out and map her skin with worshipful fingers is almost overwhelming, but Newt cannot bear the thought of waking her; instead, he lovingly traces her profile with his eyes.

He marvels over the delicate shell of her ear, the thick fan of her lashes and the defined ledge of her jaw, before dipping down to take in the marble column of her neck, dotted here and there with beauty marks. He sweeps his eyes over her narrow shoulders and collarbones, fair and graceful and almost as pale as his sheets. The curve of her bosom is hidden beneath the blankets but he doesn’t mind because he can trace his eyes over the line of her arm, with its defined bicep and delicate, slender wrist. Her long, thin fingers are reddened from work and cold, and he frowns slightly. He unthinkingly touches them with his own, causing Tina to sigh and roll onto her back—where the blanket falls to her waist, exposing her chest and stomach to the air.

Intrigued, Newt leans on his elbow to take her all in. Though he’s touched and tasted much of it before, he realizes he’s never taken the time to properly _admire_. So he does now: eyes lingering on the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and sternum, and the twin moles that live on her left breast. The dusty pink of her nipples against her snowdrift-like curves, and the gentle flare of her hip. He leans closer to examine the slightly rounded pillow of her stomach and the hair-thin silvery threads of scars branding it.

_Her skin has stretched here,_ he thinks, and gently brushes his knuckles over it. Tina murmurs in her sleep before settling, and he carefully watches her cherished face before examining her navel. He suddenly imagines her round and full-breasted with child, glowing with maternal joy from within, and finds it remarkably easy. _Would that it be your pup_ , his mind growls unexpectedly. He hastily brushes the thought aside—there’s no room for it here, in this temporary space they’ve created between them. Not yet, and possibly not ever.

Still, he feels a burgeoning coil of tension in his chest and groin that signifies an _awareness_ of her essential femininity and drops his eyes lower. The blankets cover her sex but he can still spot the beginning hint of the deep wedge between her legs as he sighs and kisses the swell of her hip. Above him, Tina hums and cracks her dark eyes open before smiling, a little blearily.

“Good morning,” she whispers, and her strong arms tug at his shoulders until he concedes and climbs over her, resting his weight on knees and elbows to kiss her tenderly. She kicks off the blankets to tangle her legs with his while he sighs and presses his face into her soft throat.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. Tina’s eyes flash with an indefinable _something_ before she reasserts control. Intrigued, he traces the outline of her mouth with the tip of his finger. She kisses it before answering.

“Not really,” Tina admits and lifts her chin to kiss his jaw. “I had...dreams. Not good ones.”

Newt hums while ducking to nibble her earlobe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and means it. “I wish I could take them away from you, Tina. I hate to think of you suffering, even in sleep.” He runs his teeth gently down the column of her throat until she hisses when a tremor works through her. His groin stirs again, more insistently this time, as she hums and wraps slender fingers around him.

“I think I know how I can be distracted,” Tina whispers throatily while stroking him. Inexplicably unstrung, Newt hides his warm face in the pillow. Her fingers ghost over his chest and stomach before she tweaks his nipples, and he moans softly. She rocks his hips up and the soft, warm crevice between her thighs brushes his skin. The sudden urge to know and _taste_ overwhelms him.

Tina makes a bereft sound when he dislodges her fingers, but he kisses it away until she pants and squirms. He moves slowly down her body, his mouth hot on every inch of skin he can reach before gently parting her thighs. She catches his eye as she eagerly guides his head to where she wants him most, and Newt is unsurprised to find her already dewy with anticipation. He tastes her with an approving sound, running the flat of his tongue the entire length of her before swirling around her clit. She moans, the sound low and sweet in his ears, and does not break eye contact.

He laps at her with building intensity, savoring her flavor and the sounds of bliss she shares so freely. Her fingers tangle in his already wild hair as she strokes his cheek and neck until the pressure gets to be too much and she _arches_ , painting his face with moisture. He focuses on her most sensitive spot until she keens and rocks into him, pulling his hair roughly as her soft outer lips contract against his mouth, riding him to glorious release.

Tina slumps against the pillow, temporarily sated but far from satisfied. “Come here,” she whispers urgently and tugs him over her once more. She curls one of her legs around his waist while pushing the other against the sheets, bracing herself on his arms and kissing him hungrily. “Want you,” she manages around a gasp, and he groans. “Please,” she implores breathlessly. Newt lifts a shaky hand to touch her face.

“Will you have me, Tina?” He asks, recalling their _first_ time like this. She calms enough to meet his eyes.

“Always.” She fans her thumbs over his cheek. “ _Always_. Please...”

“Of course, love,” Newt murmurs, and watches as she lines them up. He holds her gaze when he sinks in, sharing a sigh as she engulfs him entirely, all slick, heated velvet and dark pleasure, and groans when she shows a smirk before _squeezing_ him.

“This won’t take much,” Tina breathes in wonder as they shift together. He kisses her throat while he finds their pace, rolling his hips against her in short, sharp thrust intended to _encourage_. She dissolves into a flurry of moans that he drinks in, cherishing the sounds she makes and the feel of her around him, memorizing her face as her eyelids flutter and her swollen lips part to sigh his name, over and over. Her torrid eyes widen when he feels tremors begin where he’s sunken into her, deep quivers that herald a far greater reward.

“ _Yes_ , Tina,” he manages through a suddenly tight jaw, watching her back bow off the mattress while her chest and cheeks infuse with hectic color. She lifts an unsteady hand to touch his mouth with a moan, managing to break through the haze of his own lust with her voice.

“Together,” she breathes, and he squeezes his eyes shut when she _tightens_. “Come with me, Newt,” she moans brokenly, and his eyes open wide. An unfamiliar curse tumbles from her lips as she tenses beneath him, her quim contracting nearly to the point of pain before milking his length—just hard enough to cause stars to burst behind his eyes, his hearing to wash to static.

“ _—Tina!—_ ” Newt chokes when her teeth find his shoulder, and tumbles messily after her. His release is a wild, almost defiant thing, and they endure it together until he coasts to a halt with his face pressed into her skin, inhaling the cloying bouquet of sex and sweat as she cradles him.

Tina murmurs his name and trails delicate fingers over his back while he recovers, before touching his jaw to kiss the tip of his nose. “Welcome back,” she purrs when he can focus once more. Newt blinks out a smile. He makes as if to get off her until Tina tightens her hold on him, nibbling her lip in momentary indecision before tracing the frown line on his forehead. “Stay? Please.”

He nods after a brief hesitation and gingerly lowers himself until his head is pillowed on her chest and his weight is distributed over her large muscles. Tina sighs in deep-felt satisfaction and fingers his wild curls, while Newt closes his eyes and _does not think_ about tomorrow.

*

The artificial sun has lumbered over the horizon when his stomach growls in warning. Newt lifts his head lazily to find her beaming down at him. “ _Somebody_ worked up quite an appetite,” she teases gently. He ducks his head to hide the inevitable blush. Tina grins until he’s helpless but to respond in kind, before rolling her shoulder while quirking a brow. He scrambles off of her and she sighs while stretching her legs before kissing his mouth gently.

“Thank you for that,” she says and shows her dimples. “That was a really great start to the day.” She scoots to the edge of the bed and stands to gather her clothing, holding them to her chest as she turns. Newt watches the graceful trajectory of her willowy limbs and swallows against another eldritch curl of desire. Tina either doesn’t notice his wandering eyes or chooses to ignore them.

“Um, Newt?” She asks. “You said you have a tub down here, right? Can I use it, please? I feel a little...” She gestures to herself with a vague grimace. Newt is suddenly overcome with the pleasant mental image of her in the bath, naked and soapy and _wet_ , and loses himself in overheated imaginings. Tina smirked, apparently reading _that_ thought clearly until he jerks back to reality and clamors to stand before her awkwardly.

“Er, yes,” he manages despite his flaming face and too-tight throat. “Behind my shed. Come on, I’ll show you.” He debates tugging on his trousers, only to shrug and lead the way without the impediment of clothing. He turns his head slightly to see her openly admiring the view, and smirks before taking her around the crooked little building.

“Here,” he says unnecessarily, and points. The tub is a cast-iron, porcelain-glazed monstrosity, used for cleaning both himself and his creatures. It appears clean enough, if a little stained, so he waves his hand with a muttered spell to ensure its hygiene. Another careless wave and the tub begins to fill with steamy water.

Tina smiles at him with her eyes while using her wand to freshen her clothes. “Hey,” she finally says when the tub is full, and he blinks at her questioningly. “Do you have a towel?” She clears her throat and looks around. “And soap, too. That’s...kinda important.”

“Yes,” Newt says while jerking himself into motion. He speaks from over his shoulder while rounding the corner. “I have a towel _and_ soap, just—ah.” He debates a moment before giving her _his_ towel, hastily fluffing it while casting a warming charm. The soap is more of a challenge until he remembers putting it next to his ewer and basin the night before. A hastily-murmured Summons and it smacks into his open palm as he returns to Tina.

“Here,” he says, “I’ve found what you need, I—”

He stumbles to a halt, tongue stuck firmly to the roof of his mouth when he rounds the shed. She’s climbed into _his_ bathtub, pale, graceful limbs curled within the confines of the porcelain as she trickles warm water over her shoulders. She smirks at his obvious befuddlement before raising a wet, slender hand.

“Thank you, Newt,” she whispers, and it carries. He steps closer without thought to take in the sight of her entirely, and his swallow is very loud in the sudden quiet. She pushes a wet strand of hair back and arches suggestively before meeting his eyes. “Do you...want to join me?”

His stomach growls again, but it’s no longer a priority.

Newt slips while climbing in, and Tina giggles when water splashes over the edge in a tidal wave—at least, until he kisses the sound away before inspiring her to make other, less decent ones.

*

They eat the thin porridge Queenie leaves for them, ravenously shoveling large bites into their mouths until it’s gone. Tina stares mournfully at the empty pot, and Newt feels a moment of helpless sadness before remembering the cherry tarts from days earlier. Hiding a smile, he Summons and hands them over to her immense delight. She politely offers one and he declines, watching with a happy glow as she hungrily consumes them.

They clean up in easy domesticity, and Newt allows himself to admit, at this moment, that he could become _used_ to this; perhaps even learn to love it. He acknowledges the weight of the concept before carefully setting it aside for later consideration. For now, his Tina is looking at him through her expressive eyes, waiting for him to set the tone and agenda of the day. He casts about for something appropriately encouraging while looking around the apartment—where he sees the exposed lathe and the crumbling walls, and fathers an idea.

One that’s potentially dangerous for him, if he doesn’t express it delicately. Such specificity is difficult for him but not impossible, so he mentally formulates his argument before opening his mouth. “Tina, love,” he asks gently, “I see you’ve some issues with that wall. Would you mind terribly if I repaired it before I left? Only...winter is coming, and I don’t want you and your sister to suffer the cold.”

Tina looks around and sighs. “ _Yes_ , all right. We’ve asked Mrs. Esposito to fix it a few times, but she always says that she doesn’t have the money.” A sulky grumble. “I think she means she doesn’t want to _spare_ the money, honestly. Because she sure gets enough of it for this joint.”

“We’re sure to find something better, eventually,” Newt says absently, and wanders over to the bare windows while she gapes at his back. He checks the jams before drifting toward the crumbling wall and mildewed ceiling. He conducts a thorough inspection the tiny, moldering apartment, constructing a mental to-do list and comparing it to his available materials and tools before deciding on a course of action.

“Will you help me, Tina?” He asks, sensing she is at something of a loose end. She looks away to swallow before meeting his eyes levelly.

“Just show me what to do,” she agrees briskly and allows him to take the lead.

*

Tina proves eminently capable, and more than adept at basic tasks. There are a few things magic can handle but most of it requires good, old-fashioned labor.

He seals the drafty windows and even uses scrap bits of fabric to transfigure into curtains, allowing the apartment at least the illusion of privacy. He drives away the mildew and shores up the walls, patching the lathe and refreshes the threadbare, ancient carpet. All these things go a long way toward freshening the space until Newt squints at the repaired ceiling with a thoughtful air.

“I’ve some whitewash,” he says finally. He turns to her, face glowing with sweat. Tina sets aside her hammer. “Would you like me to freshen that, too? Or am I...over-stepping?” It’s still fragile and new, this fierce need to protect and shelter her, and he doesn’t have a frame of reference for how to behave in this situation. Tina nibbles her lip as she considers.

“All right,” she finally agrees. “Whitewash the ceiling and walls, if it’ll make you feel better.” She glances around with a grudging sigh. “I have to admit, Newt—the place looks so much better. Smells better, too.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at him. The strange warmth in his chest expands at the sight, until the tips of his fingers tingle and he has to look away from her radiance. She, too, drops her eyes until he touches her knuckles gently.

Newt summons the whitewash and two rough brushes and considers the space before setting them all to work without his assistance. Tina, meanwhile, prepares a simple lunch of leftover beans and boiled cabbage, which they eat without enthusiasm. “You’ve spoiled me, I think,” she says as they wash the dishes. Newt hides a wince.

“I _am_ sorry,” he says evenly, “but I think you’ll find Jacob a more than generous employer. You’ll eat and have a place to live, at the very least.” A thought occurs, and he ponders it while watching her carefully. He waits until the dishes are wiped and put away, the counter washed, and the walls and ceilings freshly whitewashed before broaching the subject.

“Tina,” he begins and pauses. He considers the limited counter space and the expanse of empty wall before tilting his head thoughtfully. “I have a shelf I built some time ago,” he says slowly, “It’s quite sturdy. Shall I hang it, so you have more space to store your items?” She opens her mouth and he hurries on. “You’ve let me stay and fed me for an entire week. I won’t ever feel like I’ve done enough for you, so please let me do this one last thing.”

Tina waves a hand. “It really was no problem,” she says weakly. “We were only glad to have you.” A pause. “ _I_ was only glad to have you.” He doesn’t miss the slight emphasis. “You’ve done so much for me already, Newt, that I’m not sure I can accept anything else. Even fixing the apartment feels like too much, though I know it _needs_ to be done.” She lowers her eyes, mouth fixed in a miserable bow. “There’s no way I can ever repay...any of this.”

Newt doesn’t allow himself to think when he crosses the room in two long strides. He puts his arms loosely around her to kiss her forehead until she tips her head back and looks up at him. He loses himself in her gaze for a moment before smiling. “I assure you that no repayment is necessary, Tina. I am glad to do it, and I’d complete a thousand more little tasks besides if it meant I could...” He hesitates before plunging on. “If it made you smile,” he finishes boldly and has to look away.

Her eyes are suspiciously bright when he chances to look at her again, and he touches her cheek while meeting her eyes. She blinks rapidly and shakes her head as if to clear it. “Well,” she begins thickly and clears her throat. “I guess you’d better go get that shelf then, Newt. Though I can’t imagine what we’ll put on it. We have no bric-a-brac.”

“Groceries, of course,” he says with forced levity. “I’m sure Jacob will be a constant presence, and as I said: you’ll have income while I’m gone. So, a space to use as a pantry isn’t a bad idea.” He’s tired, suddenly; _exhausted_ to his core as the weight of his impending departure drags him down. For a moment, the thought of leaving her behind, buried in uncertainties, terrifies him. Then he blinks, and the moment’s gone. He forces a smile while gesturing vaguely behind him.

“I’ll just...I’ll go get it,” he says quickly, and flees.

*

Newt rests his head against the wall of his shed and breathes. He inhales as deeply as he can and holds it for five seconds, counting the time with beats of his finger. A long, slow exhale, a pause, and he begins again, over and over until his eyes stop stinging and he feels more in control. Pickett clicks and chirps while rubbing his neck soothingly. Newt smiles down at his oldest and dearest friend in thanks before pushing away from the wall to hunt down his shelf.

He finds it buried beneath a pile of spare wood and fishes it out with a murmured spell. It’s sturdy but plain, with a broad pine back and three wide shelves. He examines it with a critical eye before pulling out his pocket knife and setting it against the wood. Another murmured charm, this one unused in many years, and the knife begins to carve independent of his hand. He pictures what he wants and holds it in his mind as he makes his way over to his small but well-stocked pantry.

Newt quickly selects her favorites: jars of his mother’s preserves and sides of smoked meat; wide loaves of bread and even a crock of European butter, held infinitely in careful stasis. He stashes them in a wooden box and shrinks them all. He makes a mental note to remember it come tomorrow, to hide away on the shelf just before he leaves, and puts it all into his waistcoat pocket before checking on his gift.

The carving is finished, and he admires the end-result with an artist's loving eye. It turns out better than he could have hoped. He smooths the new cuts with his calloused fingers to ensure they are without splinters before hefting the weight. Then it’s carefully back up the ladder, to where his Tina waits patiently for him.

*

Tina’s delight in the shelf fills him with warmth, and he hangs it on the wall carefully. It’s easily the nicest thing in the room, and he has to smother a pang of guilt at this realization. She seems to have no such reserves; she clasps her hands and _beams_ at him until she makes to start supper, at which point he does what he can to help.

It’s another humble meal of cabbage and boiled potatoes, and he eats only enough to take the edge off his appetite before pushing his plate aside. Tina eats heartily, though she appears confused. It takes Newt a moment to catch on, at which point he arches a curious brow.

“Did Miss Goldstein and Jacob mention that they’d be gone?” He asks. Tina shakes her head.

“No, but...” she turns a lovely shade of pink. “We _did_ miss them this morning because we were...involved. I’m sure they’re fine. Jacob’s a good man, he wouldn’t pressure her to...” Tina trails off, seemingly realizing what she’s just implied. Newt feels his expression turn wooden.

“You’re right, of course,” he mumbles and lays aside his napkin. Tina hastily reaches out to snare his fingers, thumb sweeping soothing crescents over his knuckles. He looks at their twined hands before glaring at his place setting.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly. He makes no response, and she sucks her teeth in indecision before coming around the table. Tina touches his shoulder before boldly depositing herself in his lap, forcing him to look at her.

“I _didn’t_ ,” she insists, and he watches her throat work in a nervous swallow. “It’s different for us,” she goes on, touching his neck reverently. “Because of what I do, or _used_ to do. If I were a good woman, I wouldn’t have even kissed you—nothing. But I’m _not_ , and I never will be, and I think...I think that’s okay, because it’s _you_ , and it’s me, and we can make our own rules.”

Tina seals her mouth over his, and he inhales sharply at her forwardness. She presses the advantage to brush her tongue against his before drawing back to nibble his bottom lip. He feels the first stirrings of desire while leaning back to carefully examine her face. She still looks sad, but also fiercely determined. _My warrior woman_ , he thinks and embraces her entirely.

“You’re leaving in the morning,” she says in a small voice, “and I don’t want the day to end, but...” She kisses him again, thoroughly this time, until they part with a gasp. Tina meets his eyes and he is a willing captive to her stare. “Take me to bed.” Her _need_ for him is unmistakable—and undeniable.

So he does.

They spend the night in her room, beneath her thin blankets, and against her flat pillow. Newt tastes and touches every inch he can reach before spurring her to greater heights, only to catch her when she falls, and steady her when she falters. Tina gives to him with the tireless intensity of 16, the tired mattress counting the beats as he loves her until they collapse together, sated and wrung-out but far from satisfied.

Dawn inevitably finds them restless and awake. Tina muffles her small sob into his skin when her alarm signals the start of the day, momentarily panicked. He draws her close and touches her hair until they breathe in harmony; then Newt closes his eyes and, for the first time in his life, allows himself to imagine it with _another_.

*


	24. The End Is The Beginning

*

The docks are dirty and crowded with people. Tina barely notices, focused entirely on the man beside her.

She has spent the night pressed against his skin and in his arms and now, in the light of day, she’s feeling the lack of sleep in every bone. She has no regrets, however; the image of Newt Scamander hovering over her, touching her, _loving her_ is precious and hard-won, and she’d happily go months without sleep if it means she gets to lovingly cradle the memory.

Newt’s just as tired as she is if the purple shadows beneath his eyes are any indication, but he wears his fatigue well, and his expression is calm.

They stop at the foot of the gangplank by unspoken agreement. He turns to her, his eyes somehow brighter than the sun as he shyly takes in her features.

“Well,” Newt says rather hoarsely. “It’s been, um...” He trails off awkwardly, eyes never leaving her face.

“Hasn’t it!” A smile curls her lips, and he reaches out to touch it disbelievingly before sharing his own, tentative attempt. Tina watches his jaw clench nervously as he shuffles his feet, and she wants only to comfort him, to drive away the visible tension in his frame.

She cups his cheek and is elated when he closes his eyes to lean into it. Newt wraps his fingers wrap around her wrist and kisses her soft palm before returning his eyes to hers. They hold her in place, scarcely breathing as he seems to memorize her expression before closing the gap to touch her mouth with his own.

Tina desperately clutches the lapels of his jacket. She feels his lips curl slightly before deepening the kiss, turning it into something slow, thorough and passionate. They part when the area clears, foreheads tipped together as she breathes deeply of his scent.

Newt’s face is pale beneath the remnants of his summer tan when she finds the courage to open her eyes.

“I’ll write,” he promises urgently, fingers fumbling against hers. Suddenly calm, Tina steadies his hand and squeezes him reassuringly.

“I know you will,” she responds and is flooded with stupid, simple relief that she _does_ know. Her eyes fill with tears but she grins around them as his shine steadily back at her. A calloused thumb brushes away the moisture from her cheeks and she sighs while lifting a hand to cradle his jaw.

Then his touch leaves her and he steps purposefully back.

“Every week,” Newt promises, eyes bright with emotion. “Tina, I _swear_ it.”

“I know,” she repeats. Then: “Go finish your book— _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ —I’ll look out for it.”

He looks at her in obvious pain. “I shall work as quickly as I can.” Tina voices a small laugh until he shakes his head, expression taut and serious.

“ _Newt_. Work fast, but don’t hurry. Be safe, be thorough, and...come back to me.” She brushes an errant curl off his forehead. “Come back to me as soon as you can.” A careful breath to mask the tremor in her voice. “I’ll be here...waiting for you.”

“Yes,” Newt sighs and takes another step back. His eyes find and pin hers, more intent and _serious_ than she’s ever seen him. “Tina, I...” He trails off, doubt stealing into his features before he sets his jaw and squares his shoulders. “I’ll write, once I reach Liverpool. Let you know I’ve landed safely.” The moment draws out poignantly until the ship’s horn sounds, causing him to jerk his head around in alarm.

Turning back, Newt approaches her with intent. His hand is steady when it gently brushes her cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He kisses her forehead and the tip of her nose before sweetly kissing her lips—little more than a gentle press. His eyes, now weighted down with tears, drink her in one last time—

Then he turns abruptly, and he’s gone.

Tina touches her cheek while watching him go. He pauses halfway up the gangplank in indecision, and she holds her breath as her heart thrums with _hope_ beneath her ribs. Then he sighs deeply and boards the vessel almost at a trot, dipping his head in greeting to the ship's mate but never once looking back.

Newt disappears in a flash of blue and bronze, and Tina is left alone.

She waits a moment to see if he’ll come out to say a final goodbye, but he never does.

Tina clutches the tiny lick of warmth he’d kindled inside her and, feeling bereft but _determined_ , turns her face towards home.

*

There’s a small piece of paper propped on her pillow. Her name is scratched across the front in a sprawling hand, and she’d know the color of that ink anywhere—it precisely matches a certain someone’s greatcoat.

Her eyes blur with tears, but she grimly blinks them clear while lifting the missive in trembling hands.

_My dearest Tina,_

_You are more to me in hope and passion than any woman who has brushed against my days, and though I feel as if I am leaving my heart behind, I trust you entirely with the keeping of it. Hold this note close, and pretend it is me—this way, I am always with you._

_Yours, for as long as you’ll have me,  
Newt_

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt's letter was inspired by _hours_ of reading poetry on various sites around the internet and allowing bits-and-pieces to stick to the velcro of my brain. If you recognize something as being essential yours, let me know and I will be more than happy to give you full credit!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at [@katiehavok](http://katiehavok.tumblr.com/) for updates, Fantastic Beasts goodies, sneak-peaks and other fun things.
> 
> Huge shout-out to Kemara, DeviousDiggy and quillandsaber for their prose-wrangling, advice, encouragement, and help with beta-reader and historical accuracy. This sordid tale is for you guys.


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